


Counterpart

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mirror Universe, Parallel Universes, Possibly Horribly Inaccurate Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crew of the Enterprise will do anything to get their captain back. Even if it means threatening existence itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to express the hope that this story is halfway decent. I'm always vaguely panicked when I write a multi chapter story, especially when it's my first time doing so for a fandom.
> 
> Also I got all of the science from my rudimentary knowledge of wormholes and string theory and Marvel Comics' multiverse stuff so if it's all horribly inaccurate I'm so sorry, what can I say, I'm a theatre major.

Captain James T. Kirk adjusted a little in the captain’s chair, slinging his leg over the arm of it in a very un-captain-like pose. He looked more like he was lounging on a couch at a bar than occupying the seat of government aboard the starship.

Spock, his half-Vulcan, half-Human First Officer and Chief Science Officer, gave the captain a look but said nothing. He had learned long ago that the captain had very different views on what was and was not appropriate behavior for a captain, even one in charge of such a ship as the _U.S.S. Enterprise_. This behavior included but was not limited to beaming down to explore new planets despite the fact that it was heavily frowned upon for the captain to risk himself in such a way.

“Sulu,” Kirk said, “Go ahead and bring us out of warp. We should be coming up on Camus II shortly, I don’t want to overshoot it.”

“Are you doubting my coordinates?” The navigator piped up. Despite being rather young for her age, she was one of the brightest in her field. It had been her exceptional high marks that had allowed her to be stationed despite being only seventeen—but it was her relationship with the captain that had gotten her on the _Enterprise_.

Ensign Navigator Georgiana Samantha Kirk, known usually as Sam (or “Ensign” when her older brother was annoyed with her), swiveled in her chair to glare playfully at the captain. Younger than Jim Kirk by a good ten years, she had been a surprise to her family and seemed determined to continue being a surprise to everyone for the rest of her life. She had dark blonde hair, like her brother, which was currently pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail—a style she had chosen to emulate the ship’s Communications Officer, Lt. Uhura. It was a lot less work than Yeoman Rand’s elaborate braided beehive, anyway. Sam also possessed her brother’s rather piercing blue eyes—and, as Dr. McCoy was often fond of noting, her brother’s complete disregard for protocol.

“I’m not doubting your coordinates,” Kirk responded. “I’m doubting the memo that contained them. Camus II hasn’t been touched in centuries, not since that failed scientific expedition. Remember that one planet with the big dinosaur-shaped thing? The one that was on the opposite side of the solar system from the planet we were _supposed_ to be exploring? I still haven’t thanked the brass for that one.”

“I still say you should have called it Cretaceous Park,” Sam mumbled as she turned back to face her station.

It was as she turned back to face front that she saw it. A strange… something out in the space in front of her. Sulu had exited out of warp as instructed, and now they were staring out ahead of them at the vastness of space. There were stars, but no planets in sight. Not even a nebula.

Sam had a sudden chill work its way up her spine. She’d never been scared of space. Her father had been in Starfleet, as had her mother before she’d switched to working on humanitarian projects planetside—the word _Tarsus IV_ flicked through Sam’s head before she could stop it and she shuddered again, this time at the memory. She’d been only six when that had occurred. James had done his best to shelter her through the worst of it but she remembered the clawing hunger. She remembered the dust. And most of all she remembered her friends disappearing one by one… and then the screams. 

Her brother’s screams, screams of helplessness and rage, let loose only when he thought she was asleep… those were the worst of all.

He’d hid them, as many as he could find, in one of the cave systems he knew so well. She’d hidden with them. They had all been so scared. _My mom will come for us,_ she’d told them. _My dad is in Starfleet, when he hears about this they’ll come for us._ She’d had a child’s faith in her parents, in goodness.

But it had been her brother. Her big, brave brother. He’d gotten the word out to Starfleet—found their mother where she’d been imprisoned so she couldn’t stop the massacre. Her brother had saved the lives of almost a hundred children.

The anomaly happened again, and Sam was thrust back into the present.

She had never been scared of space. Space was for fun and exploration. Space was filled with new worlds, new cultures and languages and histories and animals to be explored. Space was beautiful.

But now, for some reason, it seemed incredibly empty. It seemed like a void—a void that was about to open up its jaws and swallow them all whole.

It happened again.

“Captain,” Sulu said. “Can you see this?”

It wasn’t like there was an object in front of her. It was like the very fabric of space was starting to ripple, and then condense, and then slowly rip and tear open…

Kirk leaned forward in his chair. “Spock. What is that?”

“I am afraid that I do not know, Captain.”

She’d thought she knew blackness. She thought she knew darkness. She stared at space all day, after all. But this… this was something knew. It was deeper than darkness, wider… it was like… it was emptiness.

A hole in the world.

“I’m picking up some signs,” Marks said over in his station. “There seems to be an object of some kind—a ship, mayb—”

Marks never got to finish his sentence. A blast, several repeating blasts, of fire came out of the void, striking with deadly accuracy at the _Enterprise_.

“Shields are down 60%!”

“How did they do that?” Kirk righted himself in his chair. He looked the quintessential captain now, all business.

More fire, and then an explosion that rocked the ship, making it list sideways. Sam grabbed at the console in front of her, suddenly panicked. She couldn’t even say exactly why. There was just a sense of wrongness about all of this, a sense that something had just flipped in the universe.

“What was that?” Kirk bellowed.

“Sir!” Janice Rand, Kirk’s Yeoman, dashed in. The bottom of her dress was singed. “Sir, we’ve just lost engineering.”

“What?”

“Jim!” That was Dr. McCoy over the comm. “Is Carol with you?”

“No, Bones, she was in the science lab.”

Several expletives burst out of the comm. “I can’t reach the labs, or engineering. Or half the damn ship. I think one of the blasts took out part of the communications system. She needs to get in here and strap down. If she bumps into anything, in her condition—”

Kirk turned to Rand. “Janice, get Carol into sickbay.”

“Yes, sir.” Rand didn’t comment on how Kirk was using people’s first names now. He tended to do that when everything was casual… or when he was trying to keep people calm in a crisis.

Kirk turned back to the others. “Weapons! Can we fire anything at them?”

“It’s a little hard to do when we can’t see who we’re firing at, sir!” One of the officers replied, pushing buttons as she tried to lock down a target. “They’re using a cloaking device, and they’re hiding within that—that anomaly. I can’t see anything, and the weapons refuse to lock when there isn’t a target.”

“Scotty!” Kirk barked into the comm. “Scotty, can you hear me?”

There was only a buzzing noise in return. Spock and Kirk exchanged a look, and Sam knew they were doing that mental communication thing. Ever since they had bonded, they no longer required a mind-meld in order to communicate with their minds. Sulu had quipped that they could practically read each other’s minds anyway. But now that they were officially bonded—at least, according to what James had told her—they could always sense the other in the back of their mind, and they could speak or send emotions to one another through that mental bond.

“Sam,” Kirk said after a moment, “Plot us a course to get us closer to the planet, bring us in as close as you can without our crashing. We’ll use cloud cover or—or something to hide us. Sulu, punch it.”

Sulu punched it.

Or tried to.

“Uh, Captain?” Sulu double-checked that everything was in working order. “I can’t get us to warp. I think they’ve taken it out.”

“How are they knowing where to hit us?” Sam asked aloud. First their shields, then engineering where all their weapons and power were stored, now their warp capabilities, possibly their transporters… 

Kirk paused at that, and looked over at Spock again. Another blast rocked the ship.

“Shields are down! Shields are down!”

“Sir, we can’t hold them. We have no firepower and no defense capabilities.”

“We’re sitting ducks,” Sulu muttered.

Kirk swore.

“Captain,” Spock said, calm as ever, “May I suggest that we head for the escape shuttles?”

“And abandon ship?” Kirk looked like someone had put a phaser to a puppy’s head.

Spock inclined his head. “Our chances of saving the _Enterprise_ are two point three four percent, Captain. In this state the ship will begin a freefall within minutes. We will essentially be entombed in a dead vessel.”

Kirk swore again, but he punched into the comm. “Attention. Attention. This is the captain speaking. We are to begin emergency evacuation immediately. Everyone head for the escape shuttles. Remember your assigned shuttle and companions. Make sure that you have all of your companions before you jettison the shuttle, and follow all proper evacuation procedures. Kirk out.”

Kirk looked at all of them. His gaze lingered on Sam for a beat longer. She hoped that her fear didn’t show. It was only a little fear, anyway. She knew James would take care of it. He always found a way to take care of things.

_James. Some people will say you’re cheating._

_I don’t believe in no-win scenarios, Sam._

“You all heard that,” Kirk said. “Your orders are the same. Emergency evacuation begins now.”

Everyone stood up, almost at the same moment. People shut down their stations. Uhura took her earpiece out with a look of reluctance on her face. Sam had rarely seen her without that little device hooked over her ear. Everyone moved quickly but calmly and in an orderly fashion through the doors and down the hall. Sam found herself just behind Sulu and Uhura, next to James but in front of Spock.

There was another blast. The ship gave a sickening lurch and Sam had to grip the side rail for support. Everyone’s jog turned into a full-out sprint as they all realized the same thing:

The _Enterprise_ was beginning to fall apart. 

The other ship, or whatever it was, continued to blast them without mercy. It suddenly became a race—who would get there first? Would they reach the escape shuttles, or would the enemy’s fire find them?

Sam felt her heart steadily climbing into her throat as she was shuffled into one of the elevators, crammed up against the wall. She was shorter than most of the others so she couldn’t see anyone’s heads, only a squashed mass of red and yellow and blue.

A large, warm hand wrapped around hers. She looked up at her older brother’s face. His mouth was set in a grim line, his jaw straining, but his eyes were warm. He squeezed her hand.

“It’ll be okay, Sam.”

She was reminded of Tarsus IV.

_It’ll be okay, Sam. Just stay here in the caves. It’s nice and cool here, isn’t it? Safe from all that dust? I’ll be right back, you just stay here. Remember to be quiet, okay? Not a peep._

Sam squeezed her brother’s hand and pretended she never had to let go.

The elevator doors opened and they all piled out, trying to stay in some kind of formation even as they dashed around fallen pipes and dangling wires. Engineering had been hit, and hard. Sam swallowed as she understood what James and Spock had undoubtedly realized when James had been unable to contact Scotty.

_He’s dead._

She held on to James’ hand, not caring if it made her look like a little child all over again. Sulu and Uhura were still ahead, everyone else even farther ahead—and there, just one level down, were the escape shuttles. She saw a flash of blue just as Kirk’s comm. beeped.

“Jim!”

“Bones! You safe?”

“I’m in the shuttle.”

“Is Carol with you?”

“Yeah, I’ve got her, Rand, Chapel, and the other members of my shuttle. I let Rand’s shuttle know that she’s going to be with me, Carol’s got kind of a death grip on her hand right now.”

“What?”

Through the comm. came the sound of furious screaming.

“Carol’s gone into labor,” McCoy explained. Sam could hear the tightness in his voice and knew he was concerned. Dr. Carol Marcus-McCoy was eight months pregnant—she wasn’t due for another three and a half weeks, possibly four. It wasn’t terribly premature, but the stress of the situation and the danger they were in… Bones must have been trying very hard not to panic, Sam thought.

“She’s going to be okay, Bones,” Kirk said. “She’s tough, and it’s only a few weeks early. You’re the best, and you’ve got the best team.”

Bones barked out a harsh laugh. “Yeah. Tell that to Carol, she’s cursing me out.”

Through the comm. came the sound of Carol screaming something that sounded like _southern bastard_.

“We’re almost at the shuttles,” Kirk said. “Tell Rand to make sure everyone else is in their proper shuttles, if she can. I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Be careful, Jim.”

Several tons of rubble fell from the ceiling.

Sam felt herself yanked back. She heard a yelp from Sulu and a sickening thud, saw Uhura’s body go rolling across the walkway—Sulu was grabbing at Uhura, and her side was red from more than just her uniform—there was a shout behind her, and then she was slipping, James’ grip on her was slackening, tugging, he was yelling something—

A thick metal rod, probably used for the structure of the ship, fell down along with the rest of the rubble. It landed squarely on her leg. She could hear the crack, feel something inside of her leg buckle and shatter. Pain like nothing she had ever experienced before radiated out through her entire body. It felt like her bones themselves were rattled. She couldn’t even describe what her leg felt like. It was like… like everything inside of her had been split into a thousand pieces of sharp glass, all of which were cutting and digging into her flesh.

She screamed. She was a little ashamed of it but she screamed. She fell backwards, her leg still pinned underneath the rod. The back of her head banged against the walkway as she fell, a dull throb that made her see stars, but it was nothing compared to the thousands of tiny glass shards inside of her leg.

“Spock!”

She twisted, struggling to move under the weight of the immense rod. James was behind her by about ten feet, and he was clutching a body.

Cold flowed in her stomach, a horrific counterpoint to the molten pain in her leg.

James was murmuring things, things she couldn’t hear—things that didn’t sound like they were Standard. Vulcan, she realized, or at least some of it was. One word, or at least she assumed it was a word, was repeated over and over again: a short ‘t’ sound, with a slight ‘uh’ at the end, followed by a stressed ‘high’ sound, and then a soft, ‘la’ sound.

_Tuh-high-la?_

Sam pushed against the beam that held her leg down. Even from here she could see the tears streaming down her brother’s face. She had to get to him, to comfort him—but there was no time, no time for grieving or comfort, they had to get to the escape shuttles—

“James!” She screamed. “James!”

He didn’t seem to hear her.

“James, we have to get to the shuttles!” For some reason she remembered that only she called him James. Everyone, even Spock, called him Jim, although Bones was the only one who did it even when they were on duty. She’d always preferred James. Their father had died when she was ten, and before that on Tarsus IV James had been her surrogate parent with their father gone and mother missing. ‘James’ had just seemed more parent-like, more formal and appropriate to their relationship, than ‘Jim.’

“James!”

He heard her that time. He looked up, towards her, and she saw the truth written on his face.

_He was never going to get on the shuttle._

_O Captain, My Captain…_

_A captain goes down with his ship._

_And no captain can cheat death forever._

The thoughts bounced through her mind almost as though they didn’t belong to her. The pain was getting to her, making it hard to think. She needed pain medication and fast. The bones were at least broken, if not completely shattered.

“No!” She screamed. “James, no! You have to come with me!”

He stood up slowly, as if moving through thick mud. He was coming to help her, she realized, but he would not go with her. Not with Spock dead. Not with his ship crashing all around him.

Sam realized she was crying. She wondered when that happened.

James was standing, standing ten feet away from her, just ten feet and she couldn’t reach him—

And then more of the ship crashed down.

She screamed, almost without knowing why, as her brother vanished. She heard and saw the walkway buckle, felt herself sliding a little, the metal beam the only thing keeping her from joining her brother, his dead lover, and several tons of walkway and wreckage in freefall down into the bowels of the ship. 

“No!”

She twisted, reaching, knowing even as she did so that it was too late, she was too far away, he was gone, there and gone in an instant and at least he got to say goodbye to Spock she was never going to say goodbye to him James my brother please no you were the one thing I could count on you were always there I was always safe if you were there—

Large, strong hands—not large enough, calluses only on the right hand, the sword hand—yanked her free of the metal beam.

She screamed again, this time in pain.

“Sam!” It was Sulu. “Help me! We have to get to the shuttle!”

She blinked away tears and saw Uhura lying farther ahead, on the part of the walkway that hadn’t fallen.

“She’s going to bleed out,” Sulu said. “I can’t carry her alone, please.”

Sam forced herself to stand. The pain that lanced up her leg almost made her vomit. She hadn’t known pain like this existed. But she nodded when Sulu looked like he was going to ask if she was okay, and she swallowed down the bile.

She looped one of Uhura’s arms across her shoulders, while Sulu took the other and then wrapped an arm around Uhura’s waist, pressing his hand against her side to hold in the blood. Uhura was barely conscious, fighting to stay awake.

“J-just… leave…” She mumbled. Sam wanted to cry all over again. Uhura’s crisp tones, her meticulous and perfect language skills all going down the drain as she mumbled and slurred, trying to sound out simple Standard.

“We’re not leaving you,” Sulu replied. “C’mon Sam.”

“As you say, Acting Captain,” Sam ground out. She knew it wasn’t Sulu’s fault. It wasn’t his fault Scotty was dead, or Spock, or James. But she hated calling him that anyway. 

They managed to work together to get Uhura down to her escape shuttle. The other shuttles were jettisoning even as they reached them. Soon only Uhura’s shuttle was left.

“I’ll help you get her situated and then you can go,” Sulu said.

“What? No.” Sam shook her head as best she could with half of Uhura draped over her. “You can’t stay here.”

“Someone has to make the log and go down with the ship,” Sulu replied. “As Acting Captain, that duty falls to me.”

“We need you to lead us,” Sam argued. “McCoy can’t do it, and Carol’s in labor.”

“You’ll do fine,” Sulu replied.

It took Sam a moment to realize that he meant her specifically and not the general ‘you.’

“No. No, I can’t lead! Hikaru, I’m seventeen!”

“Quartermaster Ssh’gnalla is dead. Our Chief Medical Officer and Second Science—now Chief Science—Officer are compromised. The navigator is next in line. Yeoman Rand is your First Officer.”

“But we need you,” Sam argued.

Sulu didn’t say anything, but Sam knew that was because the subject was closed. He was going to stay on the ship.

Sam allowed her leg to buckle.

Sulu was forced to catch the majority of Uhura’s weight as Sam fell against the side of the escape shuttle entrance, gasping in pain. At least she didn’t have to fake that part. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Can you—get her into the biobed. My leg—I think it’s shattered my knee, if not worse.”

Sulu nodded, helping Uhura get into the biobed. The moment his back was turned, Sam sprinted for it.

Her leg screamed at her and she almost lost her balance as the pain made her dizzy, but she forced herself to keep moving. She exited the escape shuttle and opened the control box. She had to steady herself against the wall. The pain was making her thoughts jumble a little.

Right. Enter four-digit code. Authorization: Ensign Kirk. Technically she was Lt. Kirk now but she doubted the computer had updated that quickly. If it was even still capable of doing that. Verbal code. Punch green button.

She couldn’t be sure, of course, but she thought she heard a yell of outrage from Sulu as the doors to the escape shuttle shut and sealed.

_I’m sorry, Hikaru._

She jettisoned the final escape shuttle, Uhura and Sulu safely inside.

_I couldn’t let anyone else die._

* * *

She couldn’t spare a thought for the escape shuttles. She couldn’t spare a thought for the dead bodies, either, although there were a lot of them. Each step was absolute pain.

It was probably a good thing she was going to die soon, because her leg was going to be messed up beyond even McCoy’s ability to repair.

She managed to reach the bridge again, stumbling towards the captain’s chair. James’ chair.

Sitting on it felt like some kind of violation. Never, in any universe, had she thought she’d be sitting here. Maybe in another chair on her own starship someday, sure. But the _Enterprise_ was James’ ship. Only James or sometimes Spock sat in there or, on one or two occasions when Spock and James were planetside and Scotty was busy running around in Engineering, Sulu. There were seven people between Sam and the captain’s chair.

And now four of them were dead.

She settled herself in and tried to look professional. This was a log that all of Starfleet would see, or at the very least the Admirals. She wanted to look capable.

She pressed the button that would start the video log.

“Captain’s log,” she said—and then corrected herself. “Sorry. Acting Captain’s log.” She gave the Stardate and then cleared her throat. “This is Lieutenant Georgiana Samantha Kirk, formerly Ensign. I am the last surviving crewmember aboard the _U.S.S. Enterprise_. All other remaining crewmembers are aboard the escape shuttles, which were jettisoned approximately five minutes ago. Acting Captain and former Helmsman Hikaru Sulu is aboard, as well as Chief Medical Officer Dr. Leonard McCoy, Chief Science Officer, former Second Science Officer Dr. Carol Marcus McCoy, Head Nurse Christine Chapel, Communications Officer Nyota Uhura and Yeoman Janice Rand.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Captain James Tiberius Kirk is dead. First Officer and Chief Science Officer Spock is dead. Second Officer and Chief of Engineering Montgomery Scott is dead. Quartermaster Ssh’gnalla is dead. Approximately half of the rest of the crew are dead as well. Their deaths are the result of an anomaly that we sighted in front of our ship when we came out of orbit en route to the planet designated as Camus II.”

She probably should have explained exactly how James had died, and her best guess as to everyone else, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

Sam described the anomaly and the result of its appearance.

“There is no doubt that the _Enterprise_ is lost. Acting Captain Hikaru Sulu wished to remain aboard to go down with the ship, but I broke protocol and acted with insubordination, trapping him in an escape shuttle with Lt. Uhura. Lt. Uhura was in critical condition upon the launching of the shuttle.” Sam swallowed. “If Sulu had stayed aboard the _Enterprise_ , I would have become Acting Captain. As Sulu had already stated his intention to remain aboard, one can argue that in essence he had already appointed me as Acting Captain, and therefore I was acting within the bounds of my leadership to make the executive decision to replace Sulu as the one staying aboard the _Enterprise_.”

It was bullshit, and she knew it, but she liked to think it was something that James would say. James always preferred to bend the rules or find the loopholes rather than outright breaking them. He said it was more of a challenge.

“Furthermore, I am seventeen and did not feel that my experience and maturity were such that would allow me to captain the remaining crew effectively as we made our way to a safe Federation outpost. Sulu has demonstrated excellent leadership capabilities and has twice my experience and maturity, and so will make a better Acting Captain for the crew.”

Sam swallowed. This was the part she hated.

“If possible, I would like to include a personal message to Lt. Winona Kirk.” She felt tears welling up and starting to leak out the corners of her eyes. Her nose was starting to run, too. She must look a mess. “Mom, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried to reach him but I was stuck and couldn’t make it in time. I know you’re going to hate me for staying. I wish I could say I was sorry. But I’m not. Sulu will do a much better job than I could. It was the right decision, whether it followed protocol or not. But I am sorry that I’m hurting you. We both are. James would never want to hurt you.”

She choked as a sob welled up in her throat. “I love you Mom. I’m so sorry. But I love you so much.”

She was going to completely break down in a minute. She had to sign off before that happened.

And then she saw it.

Emerging out of the void, sleek if a little battle-scarred, the lines and curves of it as familiar to her as her own right hand…

“Starfleet,” she breathed, “You’re not going to believe this.”

Emerging from the void was the _Enterprise._


	2. Chapter 2

Sam cut off the video log and scrambled to her feet. That was the _Enterprise_ all right—but how could it be? She was in the _Enterprise_. Could this be some weird hallucination? Had the pain in her leg and her own grief combined to make her officially loopy? Perhaps the life support systems were down and she was suffering from oxygen deficiency without even realizing it.

The ship turned, and Sam was able to read the name on the side.

_I.S.S. Enterprise._

Wait—I? Why not a U?

A distinct noise, one she thought she’d never hear again, sounded behind her.

Someone was beaming onto the ship.

Instinct had her scrambling for a hiding place. She ducked behind the science officer’s station, crouching low. Her leg continued to send jolts of pain ricocheting through her body. Gently, careful not to make any noise, she pulled out her phaser.

The doors to the bridge opened and four individuals stepped into the room.

At first Sam could only see their boots. But then she craned her face just over the edge of the desk—and had to hold in her gasp.

It was Sulu, Uhura, Dr. Marcus-McCoy and Spock.

But… it wasn’t.

This Sulu was wearing red instead of yellow and had a long raised scar on the right side of his face that curved around his eye. There was something hard and set in the lines of his face, a hardness that Sam had never seen before.

Uhura’s hairstyle was different, piled up in a bun rather than in a ponytail, and again there was harshness to her face that Sam hadn’t ever seen in her Uhura. This Uhura wore red as usual, but the cut of the dress was different—it was long sleeved, with a swooping neckline. She walked barely a foot behind Spock, just at his elbow, like she was a dog awaiting a command from her master.

Dr. Marcus-McCoy was the farthest away from Sam, wearing blue, in a dress the same style as Uhura’s. There was a gleeful gleam in her eye that scared Sam. She didn’t quite know what it was just yet, only that it was malicious.

Spock was the biggest difference. He wore blue, but the style of his robes was wrapped, like a _gi_ , with various patches placed on it. The quality of the robes was shiny, like silk, almost. And in addition to the severe expression on his face, he was sporting a goatee.

Sam would have laughed it if was any other circumstance. The goatee just… made him look evil, somehow, in a funny cartoon villain way.

The coldness in his eyes, however, was nothing to laugh at.

Sam ducked back behind the console as Not-Uhura looked her way. Who were they? What were they doing here?

“There’s no sign of him, Captain,” Not-Uhura said. Her voice was a little different too—throatier, and containing an anger that Sam had never heard Uhura use. Her Uhura was always calm and collected, the steadying presence on the bridge.

“Search the ship. He will be here.” Not-Spock looked around, a calculating look in his tone and eyes that suggesting cunning rather than detached observation. “He will not have abandoned his ship.”

“Yes, Captain,” Not-Uhura replied. She looked over at Not-Sulu. “Sulu and I will search the ship.”

Not-Sulu looked delighted at this prospect, and turned to follow Not-Uhura out. As they did so, Sam caught a glimpse of another patch on their uniforms. It was the globe, but with a sword stabbing down through it, as though it were both impaling the globe and serving as its axis.

Sam looked around her for some kind of writing device. She had to draw this symbol so she’d be sure to remember it—although what good it would do her while trapped on a ship about to fall apart, she didn’t know.

“Dr. Marcus—” Not-Spock paused.

Not Marcus-McCoy. She could have kept her maiden name instead of hyphenating, or… Sam dared another look. No wedding ring. Not-Carol and Not-Bones (if there was one) weren’t married.

Sam had ducked back behind the console, and before that she had been looking at Not-Carol, so she didn’t realize she was being snuck up on until she was lifted bodily from the waist and thrown across the room. Her phaser went flying out of her hand.

She yelped, her leg banging against the floor and making her vision white out in pain for a brief moment. Not-Spock loomed over her. “Uhura! Sulu!” He barked.

“You never bark,” Sam said, gritting her teeth against the pain. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you even raise your voice.”

“Who are you?” Not-Spock demanded.

“Is it him?” Not-Carol asked at the same time.

Not-Uhura and Not-Sulu came rushing back in, staring when they caught sight of her.

Sam added up the puzzle pieces.

She was wearing her gold command dress, fitting since she was a part of command crew as the navigator—but also the same outfit a captain would wear.

She had the same hair and eyes as her brother, and people had often commented on how, if she were only older, people could easily mistake them for twins.

She was the only person left on a dying ship.

They kept talking about looking for _him_ , finding _him_ , how _he_ wouldn’t leave the ship.

And they called Spock their captain.

They were looking for her brother.

Sam didn’t know what they were after, but she knew it couldn’t be anything good. There was too much coldness, too much anger and violence in their eyes. Stopping them or throwing them off track in any way could only be a good thing.

“I’m Jamie,” she said. “Jamie Kirk, captain of the _Enterprise_.” She glared up at Not-Spock, hoping she looked and sounded the way her brother would. “And you are not my Vulcan.”

Not-Carol gave a cruel little laugh at that. “Did you hear that? _Your_ Vulcan. Kirk is predictable, you must admit.”

Not-Spock crouched down in front of her. As if by agreement, Not-Sulu and Not-Uhura came up behind her and each grabbed an arm, pinning her down. “You are the captain of this ship?” Not-Spock asked.

Sam arched an eyebrow at him in imitation of his own favorite form of facial expression. James had always been playfully mocking Spock’s expressions.

“We can take her in to the good doctor,” Not-Carol said, her voice filled with malicious glee. “He can take a DNA sample to see if she’s who she says she is.” Not-Carol leaned forward a little. “And I assure you, he won’t be gentle about it.”

“Dr. Marcus, while I am certain that your boyfriend appreciates your enthusiasm for his talents, this is neither the time nor the place,” Not-Spock ordered. “Although your suggestion is commendable, I do not think a DNA test will be necessary.”

He reached forward, wrapped his hand around Sam’s broken knee, and squeezed.

She screamed—or thought she screamed. It was hard to tell when her entire world went painfully bright and colorless, like a flashlight shone directly into her eyes, except the flashlight was coming from the inside of her brain. Pain shot up and down her leg and she thrashed, trying to escape it.

The pain receded and she stopped screaming, gasping for breath as she realized that Not-Spock had released her leg. Tears streamed down her face, but she hardly felt them. Now that the blinding pain was gone she felt strangely numb.

“Vulcans are a peaceful race, or were until the takeover of the Terran Empire,” Not-Spock said in a musing tone. Or she thought it was musing. It was difficult enough to read normal Spock, never mind this one. “Nevertheless, we are well acquainted with particular nerves which, when we apply pressure, can render someone unconscious, can relieve pain, or can deliver excruciating agony.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Sam gasped, even though she knew it was a lie. “You always told me that Vulcans used their knowledge to promote peace and harmony and logic, all that stuff. It’s why you would never mind-meld with someone without their permission.”

A strange look crept into Not-Spock’s eyes. “Ah, but I am not the Spock you knew.”

With that, he pressed his fingers to her psi points.

For a moment, a brief moment, he was in her mind. He was privy to her thoughts and emotions—the surface ones, anyway. She knew that he knew she was lying, that she wasn’t James or Jamie Kirk. She was James’ sister, and James was dead—

And then she slammed down her walls.

It had been after a particularly nasty meeting with a group of telepathic natives on a newly-discovered planet that had caused Spock to train the crew in basic mental defense. That way they could keep an opponent out of their minds and free themselves from manipulation. Depending upon the strength of the individual’s will, the strength of their defense varied. Spock had declared Kirk to be an especially free and emotional mind, which unfortunately made him an easy target for telepaths. Uhura, on the other hand, had an ironclad mental defense. McCoy was surprisingly good at mental defense as well. It was mostly because he was very good at tuning everything else out and focusing on just one thing, that one thought pushing all others out and leaving no room for anyone or anything else to enter.

Sam had been far from the best student, Spock had assured her that she’d done well for her age. Young minds, while stronger than their elders in many ways, were generally more susceptible to mind control because of how malleable they still were. Sam’s mental defenses, he declared, were adequate for any telepath they would encounter. However, if a Vulcan such as himself tried to control her or invade her mind, she wouldn’t be strong enough. He’d advised her to employ a particular mental technique, and coached her on the steps.

Sam did those steps now.

She slammed down her walls, making them as hard and fast and strong as she could.

Then she forced her intruder out.

It wouldn’t be enough to keep them out forever. They would be surprised, and so she could get away with shoving them out once. But they’d go in again, and this time they’d be prepared.

Not-Spock reeled back, eyes wide, gasping, “Who taught you how to do that?”

“You did,” Sam spat.

Then she did the third step, the one Spock had told her she would have no choice but to do:

She ran.

Well, technically she headbutted Not-Spock (ow) then twisted out of Not-Uhura’s grip and used Not-Sulu’s weight against him as leverage to flip him over her head and send him crashing into Not-Carol.

But _then_ she ran.

It was more like an extremely fast limp, if she were being honest. Her leg was now at a funny angle thanks to Not-Spock flinging her across the room, and it was continuing to give her pain with every step. Each time she put weight on it, the corners of her vision would flash white. It was only going to be a matter of time before she blacked out.

She just had to get away first.

Sam knew this ship well, but so did this other crew, and they were already hot on her tail. She dashed through the shattered hallways, climbed up ladders, and clambered around rubble. She didn’t know where she was headed and a part of her didn’t care. She was a frightened, panicked animal, and like all prey she only knew one thing: she just had to get away.

Until she reached a dead end.

She had managed to get across a hallway littered with holes and puddles and wires, with the Not-Others only a hundred feet behind her. She was in what remained of the mess hall, and now she could see that at some point the outer wall of the ship had collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in the side.

Sam stared out into space. For a moment there was nothing but her and the cold, silent stars.

And then she saw it again: the anomaly.

Space was folding and ripping and tearing, creating a hole. It was just outside of the ship. If she ran… if she leapt with enough force…

What if she missed? What if she just drifted, without oxygen, in freezing space for a few minutes until she died?

What if she didn’t miss? What was waiting for her on the other side of that strange void?

She heard shouts behind her. They were closing in.

Well, she was dead anyway.

“To boldly go,” Sam whispered.

She limp-sprinted across the remains of the mess hall and leapt, flinging herself into the void.


	3. Chapter 3

Captain James T. Kirk of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ watched the heart monitor of their unusual patient. He really didn’t know what to make of her.

First, there was how she’d appeared. Sulu and Chekov had observed a strange anomaly in the space in front of them just as they’d come out of warp to find Camus II. Nothing against the brass but Kirk had learned not to place one hundred percent faith in their records. The anomaly had looked rather like the very fabric of the universe in front of them was beginning to tear, revealing a void on the other side. It wasn’t blackness or darkness. Kirk was well acquainted with those, being in space. It was something else altogether. It was emptiness. It was nothingness.

Then the girl had leapt through.

She’d drifted through space, and Kirk hadn’t even thought twice before launching a shuttle to grab her. Bones had said they’d just caught her in time—a couple more minutes out there and she’d have been gone.

But that was just the beginning.

The girl looked to be in her late teens, possibly a young-looking twenty, and wore a gold command Starfleet uniform. But there was no report of any Starfleet ship or personnel out in this corner of space. And the girl’s face didn’t match any of the personnel in the database. Kirk knew—he’d had Yeoman Rand run it through three times.

Third, there was her condition. Aside from nearly dying by being out in the freezing airless void that was space, the girl was pretty banged up.

“A minor concussion,” Bones pronounced as he and Nurse Chapel worked on setting the girl’s leg. “Plus several minor contusions and some bruising. As for the leg, it’s completely busted. Knee’s shattered, probably by a heavy object falling on it. There’s a compound fracture in the femur and her tibia’s broken—I’m surprised the bone isn’t poking through. She’s damn lucky she didn’t cut an artery or get an infection. Probably because this happened recently.”

“Recently?”

“Yup. Probably somewhere in the last half hour.”

Bones had further noted that it seemed as though, after the initial shattering of the patella, additional damage had been done to it. “It’s like it was in some sort of vice—or, hell, like someone really strong wrapped a hand around it and squeezed.” And then, after the first fracture in the femur, the girl had suffered some kind of blunt force trauma—“like she slammed into something at high speed,” Bones said—which had worsened the fracture and wrenched the leg out of the hip socket.

In other words, the girl would be lucky if she kept the leg at all. Bones was going to do his best to set it, but even with their state-of-the-art technology and care, the girl might have to go bionic. Or, at the very least, get an artificial kneecap. According to Bones, that was where the worst of the damage was located.

But none of that was the reason why Kirk was staring at her now. He had other things to worry about, like checking in with Spock and Dr. Marcus as to what that anomaly was, and discussing their course with Sulu and Chekov, and making sure the morale of the crew was still up and nobody was spelling doom and gloom because of said anomaly. However, there was one fact that kept him standing, observing, one fact that compelled him to wait and be there when the girl woke up.

In an attempt to ID the girl, Bones had run various scans, including DNA. It was standard procedure at this juncture. It also helped see if the girl had any allergies or preexisting conditions that would cause complications during surgery.

“Look at this,” Bones had said. He’d pointed.

Dr. Marcus had been in the room at that moment. She was spending most of her free time in Sickbay recently, something that Kirk was happy to tease Bones about—especially since Bones refused to act upon or even acknowledge his crush on her.

“I don’t believe it,” Carol had said. “It’s not possible.”

“Hell it’s not,” Bones had replied. “I know for a fact it’s not possible and yet here we are.”

“What?” Kirk had asked. “What is it?”

“These DNA strands,” Carol had explained, pointing, “Are an almost exact match for yours.”

“What?” He’d been dumbfounded, to say the least. “Like… like she’s my daughter?”

“No,” Nurse Chapel chimed in. “If she was your daughter, she’d be approximately 50% you and 50% her mother. Look here.”

She’d pointed at the various strands on the screen. Kirk looked from where she was pointing to where Carol was pointing, and still didn’t get it.

“Imagine DNA like several ingredients in cooking,” Carol said. “You can make different dishes with the ingredients, but although the dish that comes out is a little different, the ingredients themselves are still 100% the same. That’s how it works with siblings. It’s the same parents, so it’s the same DNA, the same ingredients. It’s just… mixed differently, to create a different dish.”

“Your DNA and this girl’s DNA are almost a complete match,” Chapel said.

“Same ingredients,” Carol added.

Even now, Kirk couldn’t believe it. This girl… this girl was his sister? His younger sister too, by the looks of it. At least ten years younger. That wasn’t possible. Even if he did have a younger sister, she’d be his half-sibling. Kirk shuddered at the idea of a child that was half of Frank. But this girl was a _match_. That meant they had the same parents.

Her father was George Samuel Kirk, too.

But how?

“Perhaps she’s from a parallel universe?” Carol had joked. On seeing Kirk’s face, her expression had gentled. “When you eliminate the impossible, Captain, whatever remains…”

_However improbable, must be the truth._

If she was from a parallel universe, though, how did she get here? What was that strange void she’d emerged from? And why was she here?

The doors to Sickbay opened and Dr. Carol Marcus stepped through. “Spock and I have come to a conclusion,” she said. “We can say with ninety five point six percent certainty—and I’m quoting him, here—that—”

Kirk held up a hand, silencing her.

The girl was stirring.

* * *

Sam became aware of things slowly. 

First, the heart monitor beeping.

A few seconds later, her head—it felt fuzzy inside, but also oddly heavy.

Then there were the bright lights.

And then, a shape.

“Bones,” she rasped out, speaking the name even as she realized who it was.

She was in Sickbay. Bones was on her right, hovering, while Chapel was putting away the used medical tools and supplies.

Sam relaxed back into the pillows. A dream. It had all been an awful dream.

Although, her leg did hurt something fierce…

She looked down. Hoo, boy.

“Looks like I didn’t dream that part,” she mumbled. Her words came out a little slurred and slow, like she’d had too much to drink. She looked up. “I had the worst nightmare, Bones, what was in that anesthesia?”

Bones just stared at her.

Sam looked down at her leg. The anesthesia must have still been doing things to her, or maybe it was just sheer relief that none of that nightmare had been real, but she kept blabbering. “We had this… this big hole in the sky, like staring just into nothing, y’know, and then we were hit and everyone was dying. Scotty died, and Spock died, and Jim died, and Uhura almost died, and I had to stay behind while everyone got on the shuttles and I was going to die because someone had to go down with the ship, and then get this, there was an evil Uhura and an evil Sulu and an evil Carol and an evil Spock, can you believe that? And—”

Bones was still just staring at her, not saying anything. Sam looked him over. She wasn’t horribly disfigured or something, was she? She tried to remember how she’d injured her leg. It must have been when they’d visited a planet or something. She hoped James wouldn’t forbid her from leaving the ship anymore.

No matter how hard she tried, she could only remember the metal beam accident from the dream. But that couldn’t be right.

Sam’s eyes roamed over Bones, almost unconsciously, but then they snagged on his left hand.

“Bones… why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

“My what?”

Sam pointed—or tried to point. Her arm was still a little uncoordinated and heavy from the drugs, so she just ended up giving a vague gesture in the general direction of McCoy’s hand. “Your wedding ring. You’re not wearing it.”

“My wedding ring?” McCoy said the word like it was an expletive.

There was a startled noise to Sam’s left, and she turned.

James and Carol were standing there, but—

“You’re not pregnant!” Sam yelped.

“I’m not _what_?” Carol responded, sounding both panicked and indignant.

No. No, no, no no no no no no no—

Sam scrambled out of bed. Or, well, she tried to. The drugs were making her head all fuzzy and her limbs weren’t cooperating and her leg was all wrapped up…

The world tipped sideways and she fell, landing in an undignified lump on the ground. 

“Careful!” McCoy ran around the bed to reach her. “Damn it, I just set that leg. You can’t move it!”

“James?” She looked up at her brother—but was it her brother?

He stared down at her, looking… well, shocked.

“Please tell me you know who I am,” she whispered. She was starting to cry. Dammit, she hated all this crying. “Please tell me.”

“I know you’re my sister,” Kirk said slowly, and for a moment she felt a bolt of relief, but then he added, “I know that because after we rescued you, we saw that your DNA was almost a match for mine and we deduced that we were most likely siblings.”

To everyone’s discomfort—including her own—Sam burst into tears.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, everyone had settled down. 

Somewhat.

The girl now known to the rest of them as Georgiana Samantha Kirk, the younger sister of James T. Kirk from a parallel universe, was seated on her biobed where, according to McCoy, she was not to move if she didn’t want to be called Peg Leg Sam. Surrounding her, having listened with rapt attention to her story, were Kirk, Carol, Uhura, McCoy, Chapel, Rand, Scotty and Spock. Technically Uhura and Scotty weren’t supposed to be there, but Uhura had learned from Spock what was going on when Kirk had called Spock down to Sickbay, and she’d passed word on to Scotty, and both of them had insisted on listening in.

“Describe my hairstyle again?” Rand asked, self-consciously patting her tight, low bun.

“This version of myself must have been especially desperate,” Spock noted. “Vulcans are taught that mind-melding with a person against their will is the highest form of violation, one that is against both basic rights and the principle of free will.”

“I thought Vulcans didn’t get emotions like desperation,” Kirk replied.

Spock said nothing, but he could feel Uhura’s eyes on him. They had broken up a short time after the Khan incident, while Kirk was going through physical therapy. It had been a long time in coming, and so Spock did not feel guilt, but it did not change the fact of what had been the straw that broke the camel’s back, to use the common human colloquialism.

Nyota had seen him when he had attacked Khan. She had seen what he could do when he was truly… desperate.

“What was he after, exactly?” Uhura asked, but she asked the question like she already knew the answer.

She didn’t bear Spock any ill will. Really. They were better off as friends. Their relationship had been good for both of them, and she looked back on it with fondness, but it wasn’t meant to last. There were others who they were meant to be with. So it was with affection, not with malice or resentment, that she tried to take opportunities to give the thick-skulled idiot they called their captain some clues as to why Spock still refused to discuss what had happened with Khan after Jim had died.

The girl, Sam, looked over at Kirk. She swallowed. “He… I mean, I’m not sure, but I think… I think they were after you. After Kirk.”


	4. Chapter 4

Kirk could feel everyone staring at him. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, given that he was the captain and people tended to look at him the moment he stepped into a room, but this felt different. This was everyone looking at him not because they were awaiting orders, but because he was a subject of shock and curiosity.

“I seek clarification as to what you are implying by such a statement,” Spock said.

Thank God that Sock was asking, because Kirk couldn’t seem to get his vocal chords to work.

“I’m implying that this other _Enterprise_ crew is from another parallel universe and somehow crossed over into mine and are looking for James T. Kirk, or some version of him,” Sam replied, unfazed by Spock’s query.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Scotty said.

Sam made a frustrated noise. “Look, it makes sense. That anomaly I saw, it had to be some kind of wormhole or something. Those people that attacked me, they were like my crew, I mean, they were the same people, but they acted differently. And they kept asking where _he_ was, that _he_ wouldn’t have left his ship. And I know that James—that my brother, he wouldn’t have abandoned the ship. He was going to go down with her. Especially once Spock was dead.”

Kirk felt the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown and schooled his face into a blank expression. He’d been lectured by Spock (screw that whole _Vulcans don’t lecture_ thing, the guy totally lectured him) on how he let his emotions show all the time, to the point where what he was thinking was obvious to anyone who looked at his face. “Especially?” He asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Sam looked at him kind of like he’d started growing a second head. Although that might have just been the drugs she was still on. Bones was keeping her basically strapped down to the bed so her leg wouldn’t get jostled, but it was still in a lot of pain and she was half-groggy from the six-hour surgery she’d just been through.

“This other Spock, he probably knew that J—that Kirk wouldn’t abandon ship. That he’d go down with it. So they were looking for him, but then they found me instead, and well,” Sam gestured down at her leg.

“May I inquire as to how you became aware that leaping into this anomaly would take you to yet another parallel universe?” Spock asked.

“I didn’t know.” Sam shrugged, her hand ghosting over her leg. “I just… I mean I was going to die anyway, right? Might as well take away the bastards’ chance to do it themselves. And I figured a slim chance is better than none. At the worst I’d be floating through space for a few minutes before I died. It seemed kind of… peaceful.”

Sam seemed embarrassed by this admission. And maybe, if she’d been surrounded by any other group of people, she’d have every right to be. But this was the crew of the _Enterprise_. They’d all faced death enough times that they’d had thoughts just like hers.

Kirk ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Uhura, Scotty, Rand—all of you, actually—get out. Except Spock.”

“And her doctor,” Bones grumped. “Her leg’ll need constant monitoring.”

“And McCoy,” Kirk amended. “The rest of you, back to your posts. I want to monitor the anomaly. And if something starts emerging from it, you let me know immediately. Scotty, you’re in charge.”

“Ah, yes, Captain,” Scotty replied, looking a little lost. Despite being Second Officer, Scotty had never had control of the bridge before. He was usually too busy racing to fix whatever problem was going on in Engineering, which meant Sulu or Uhura tended to take over the bridge if both Kirk and Spock were absent.

Uhura gave the Chief Engineer an encouraging smile and gestured for him to follow her. Kirk could hear her explaining something to him in a low tone as they exited, Rand and the others close on their heels. Carol hesitated near the exit, staring back at the girl on the bed. Something in her eyes made her seem troubled.

It was probably that pregnant comment. Kirk hadn’t asked for Sam to elaborate on the details of her crew’s interpersonal relationships, but in her explanation of how she came to be the only person left on the _Enterprise_ , Sam had been forced to explain why Bones was unable to take any kind of leadership position.

Apparently, in Sam’s world, Carol and Bones had been married for just over a year, and Carol was eight months pregnant.

Kirk wondered what that had to be like, realizing that there was a version of you out there that had married one of your coworkers. It must make for a pretty awkward situation.

Then he remembered what Sam had said— _especially_ since Spock was dead. What did that mean? Probably just that Spock wouldn’t let Kirk go down with his ship like that. He’d knock Kirk out with that Vulcan nerve pinch and then write in the logs that Kirk had just gotten hit by a wayward pipe or something. Sam couldn’t have possibly meant anything else by that word.

Right?

Kirk slammed that train of thought off the rails before it could go any farther. He spent enough time trying to figure out his weird almost-friendship with his First Officer. He didn’t need to get even more confused.

“Ensign,” Spock started.

“Please, call me Sam.”

Spock blinked at her. Kirk had to hold in a chuckle. Sam sounded almost exactly like he did when he asked Spock to call him Jim. It was amusing but also a little startling. He and Sam—his Sam, his older brother—were almost nothing alike. It was both interesting and unnerving to see a sibling that acted so similarly to himself. He wondered if this was how most siblings were, or if his counterpart and Sam were a special case.

“Sam,” Spock said, that odd note in his voice that suggested he was not entirely comfortable with the turn of events. Kirk liked to think that he’d gotten better at figuring out Spock’s well-hidden emotions, especially after the whole thing with Khan. “Had you or the rest of your crew experienced any other anomalies before this incident?”

Sam shook her head. “Nope. This was the first time.”

“And you say that this other ship known as the _I.S.S. Enterprise_ came through said anomaly while firing.”

“Yes. They actually didn’t come through until they’d pretty much finished battering the ship. It was like they knew our weapons couldn’t lock onto them so long as they stayed on the other side of that void.”

“Yet somehow they were able to lock onto your position,” Spock noted.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. Kirk wondered if he shook and nodded his head as much as this girl did. “I wondered about that. Maybe they had some kind of advanced targeting system?”

“Or maybe their weapons can fire at will?” Kirk suggested. “Starfleet has our weapons designed so that we can only fire them if they’re lacked onto a specific target. It’s supposedly to prevent captains choosing to fire willy-nilly or some trigger-happy ensign firing them off at shadows. But these people are from another universe, right? Maybe in their universe they don’t have those kinds of safeguards. They knew your ship would be on the other side, so they just started firing.”

“No.” Sam shook her head again. “If they were just blasting away at us, sure, but these were strategic hits. They knew exactly where to hit us. They took out our shields, our weapons, engineering and the science lab—anything that we could have used to defend or save ourselves. I think it was sheer luck that they didn’t take out the escape shuttles as well.”

“Perhaps they did not care if the rest of the crew escape,” Spock observed. “If their intention was to isolate Captain Kirk, then the only thing they must ensure is the destruction of the _Enterprise_ , knowing that the captain would remain on the ship.”

“But wouldn’t they want to avoid witnesses?” Kirk replied. “I mean, creating a wormhole in the space-time continuum and blasting a ship to pieces, that’s going to get recorded in the logs.”

Spock inclined his head slightly; a gesture that Kirk had learned meant that Spock was conceding the point. This was not to be confused with the head cock to the side, a gesture that meant someone had just said something confusing and/or irritating and Spock was making that confusion and/or irritation known.

“My point in pursuing this course of questioning,” Spock said, “Is that I wish to ensure that this alternate _Enterprise_ crew was indeed the creators of this anomaly and not merely taking advantage of an opportunity that presented itself at random.”

“I don’t see how they’d be in a position to take advantage of an opportunity like that,” Kirk replied. “They’d have to know what it was and what it meant, and I can only see that happening if they created that wormhole in the first place.”

“What I don’t get,” McCoy grumbled, “Is how you create a damn wormhole in the first place. Time travel’s bad enough.”

Kirk flinched at the memory of Nero. Sam looked between all of them. “Time travel? You guys have traveled in time?”

“We haven’t,” McCoy said, placing a special emphasis on the ‘ _we’_ and glancing over at Spock. Although the existence of his elder counterpart was technically a secret, Kirk had ended up telling Bones about it.

What? He told Bones everything.

Sam just seemed confused.

“He’s talking about Nero,” Kirk explained.

“Who?”

“Nero,” Kirk said. “The guy who—”

He stopped.

_The guy who killed our father._

In Sam’s universe, that wasn’t possible. Nero couldn’t have killed George Samuel Kirk on the day of his second son’s birthday because if so, Sam wouldn’t have existed.

“Never mind,” Kirk amended. “It’s something that happened in our timeline that didn’t happen in yours.”

Sam seemed curious, but didn’t say anything else about it. She turned to look at Spock. “So. They did it on purpose. How?”

“I shall have to consult with Mr. Scott upon the matter,” Spock said in that annoyingly cryptic way of his. He looked over at Kirk. “May I have permission to go, sir?”

Something about his tone seemed a little off, but Kirk couldn’t place it. It was like… well, the closest thing he could think of was that first week after he’d woken up from, uh, death. There had been something strange in Spock’s tone then as well, the same kind of strange that was in his tone now, but Kirk had never been able to figure out what it was.

“Yeah, sure.” He grinned and clapped Spock on the shoulder. “Let me know if you find anything.”

Spock merely inclined his head again and then left the room.

Kirk turned back to Sam. She was staring at him, almost expectantly. Bones was being especially interested in the scanned images of Sam’s leg, but Kirk could tell by the quirk at the corner of his mouth that he was listening in.

“What did you mean by, ‘especially’?” Kirk asked again.

Sam stared at him. “What?”

“You said that I was going to stay on the ship, especially once Spock was dead.”

Sam looked confused. Oddly, it was the same sort of confused look that Mom would get when she was drunk and someone asked her a question she couldn’t process in her inebriated state. She never touched a bottle the rest of the year but on his birthday she would always get spectacularly drunk. Even Frank left her alone on that day. “Well, I mean, I don’t want to… things might be different in this world.”

Now Kirk’s curiosity was really piqued. “Just give it to me straight.”

Sam smirked a little at that, the corner of her mouth twitching upward before she smoothed it down again. “You were in love with him, after all. You never told me what it meant to be a—a bondmate, but you two were connected mentally. Losing someone you love, it’s—it’s…”

Sam swallowed and blinked rapidly a few times, the color draining from her face and then rushing back in again like an ocean tide, making her go from normal-looking to startlingly pale and then almost red. “Anyway. Losing someone you love, it hurts. If you were mentally connected to the person, including in the moment they died—I can’t imagine what it would be like. If you were a little suicidal after that I wouldn’t blame you.”

It felt a little as though the floor had tilted beneath him. Jim have expected all of the furniture and equipment to start sliding across the floor to match the shift in gravity he was currently experiencing.

Bones made a noise that sounded kind of like a snort. “I think I’ll go and check on inventory.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Jim tried not to glare at his friend as he made his way out. Either Bones was going to start laughing the second he was in the clear or he was going to tear across the ship to gossip to Uhura about it—those two had become all scheme-y together recently and it was a terrifying development—and either way Jim wasn’t happy about it.

He turned back to Sam. “How long were we, uh, bonded? Was this—was this a new thing?”

Sam’s gaze grew thoughtful. “I’d say about six months?” She hazarded. “You didn’t really tell any of us. Vulcans are very private about that kind of thing. You hadn’t gotten officially married, our way or the Vulcan way. You hadn’t even told Mom or Spock’s parents yet. He wanted to tell his mom but he wasn’t ready for his dad to know and apparently his mom is incapable of keeping a secret from his dad so—”

Sam cut off abruptly and her hand gave a spasm in her lap. “They’ll never know, now.” She looked at Jim, as if he were a priest to whom she was giving her confession. “His parents. They’ll never know about you two. They’ll never know their son was—he died—”

She looked a little like she might be sick so Jim grabbed one of those vomit containers for her, but she waved it away. A moment later the color returned to her face. “I’m sorry. Part of me just doesn’t want to believe any of it’s true.”

“I get that.” Jim set the vomit container back down. “We can stop, if you’d like?”

“No, no, I want to answer your questions. Anything I can do to help.” Something rather akin to lightning flashed across her eyes. “I lost my crew, but I can make sure no other version of that crew has to do the same.”

Jim could appreciate her fire. “All right. So when did we, uh, get together? This Spock and that other me?”

“Right after Khan,” Sam replied. “I think you figured, you’d already lost him once, losing him to an awkward confession of feelings probably didn’t seem too bad.”

“Wait—I lost him?”

Sam nodded. “Yes. When Khan—it was the only way to save the ship. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few—or the one.” Sam seemed sad, but in a different sort of way from the rest of her newer, fresh grief. That grief seemed to be overwhelming, almost sickening in its strength. This grief was older, almost nostalgic. “You couldn’t stop him. You got there in time to see him die…” Sam made a face. “You should have seen yourself, going after Khan. You almost killed him, and that’s factoring in Khan’s superior strength. I think you hated him just that little bit more for the whole eugenics thing. ‘I am a model of a perfect human being,’” Sam's voice was an almost perfect parody of Khan’s curling baritone. “He had a fancier way of saying it,” she amended, “But that’s what he meant. I think it reminded you of Tarsus.”

Jim started at that, but before he could say anything, Sam plowed on. “You beat him almost within an inch of his life, y’know that? Uhura had to scream at you to get you to stop, she told me she almost had to stun you—had her phaser out and everything. But you stopped when she said we needed him to save Spock.”

“You used Khan’s blood,” Jim said, his words carried out softly on his breath. His heart seemed to be caught in his throat, and he wasn’t quite sure when it had gotten there.

“Bones wasn’t sure if it would work. Vulcan blood versus human blood, not to mention the high levels of irradiation. But we pulled it off.” Sam sounded pleased. “You never did accept no-win scenarios.”

Jim gave a chuckle, but it sounded weak. His imagination was happily supplying images of Spock dying, stuck behind a glass wall, his fingers sliding slowly down as the light left his eyes—

“That scream you gave, when Spock died,” Sam said. Her voice was soft, both reverent and scared. “That was the worst moment. I hadn’t—you’d only screamed like that once before. On Tarsus.”

It was a horrible subject, as horrible as Spock’s death in its own way, but Jim clutched at it. He needed to get away from this thread of conversation. Something very tight and hollow was happening in his chest, and he seemed to be stuck on the idea of Spock dying, Spock _dead_.

He swallowed. “The fungus.”

Sam looked up at him. Her eyes suddenly seemed so much wider, like they were starting out of her sockets and taking over her entire face. “Yes.” Her voice sounded a little hoarse. “People were starving. The governor… I don’t know how you knew what he was planning, but you found out. I think it was when you were snooping around to find out what happened to Mom. She vanished, y’see. She knew and was going to contact Starfleet and the Federation, since she was their official liaison officer, but Kodos had her imprisoned to stop it. He didn’t want to kill her, because she was—”

The words seemed to stick in Sam’s throat. “Pure,” Jim supplied.

Sam nodded. “Anyway, you were trying to find her, I think, when you found out what Kodos was planning. You hid me first, in the cave systems. I would have been safe because I was, well… _pure_ … but you knew they’d use me to get to you if they found out what you were doing.

“You started with the youngest kids first. Toddlers and babies. It took everything to keep them quiet. They were so hungry, I could see their ribs sticking out and their stomachs were all distended… mine was too. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and I got to the replicator and just start eating. Bread, mostly. Sometimes raw dough. And I just eat and eat and eat until I feel sick.”

Jim swallowed against the sudden lump rising in his throat. His stomach felt oddly empty and twisted up at the same time. “Yeah. Yeah I, I know the feeling.”

“I think you suspected,” Sam added. “But you never knew for sure. I never wanted you to know.” There was a hint of defiance in her tone.

“I bet I knew anyway,” Jim replied.

Something about that must have reminded her of her Kirk, because Sam’s eyes warmed. Jim could easily see himself falling into banter with her, in a way he never had with his Sam. But then, his relationship with his brother had a cloud over it from day one. Their mom and Frank certainly hadn’t helped.

Sam nodded again, her hands twisting and grabbing at the fabric of her Sickbay gown. “You, uh, tried to get to the stadium the—that day. Your best friend was in there. And a girl, Liara. You didn’t talk about her a lot but when you saw her on the way to school your face—anyway.”

Sam looked away from him, towards the far wall, and suddenly she sounded very broken and very, very tired. She sounded like his mother, Jim realized, on the rare occasions when she would talk about her dead husband.

“You would have died with them. I know you would have. You would have gone in there and held her hand and told everyone stories and made it all okay. You would have stood there with them. The blue eyed, blonde haired boy, standing with all the dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes and mixed races and species…”

Yes. He would have. It was defiance of the highest order, at least in his teenage mind. Kodos had wanted him and those like him to live. He would defy Kodos by dying.

It was the biggest middle finger he could think to give the bastard, and he would have been with Liara and A’rturo and all the others.

Except…

“There was me,” Sam said. “And all the other children, still in the caves. I was the only other pure one but I was too young. You had to lead them, get the word out and keep us safe. You couldn’t die or we’d all have died too, and you were so determined to save us.”

That part was the same. He had known that those kids—ninety something of them—were all depending on him for food, for water, for their very lives. He couldn’t abandon them.

“We could just barely hear the gunfire.” Sam’s voice was a whisper now. “The wind carried the screams to us. Including yours.”

He had gone and screamed. He’d thought he’d been far enough away that none of the children in the cave could hear him, but apparently he’d been wrong. Or maybe in his world he’d been right, and there hadn’t been enough wind to carry his broken fury to the children he’d risked his life to hide.

“I’d never heard you sound… broken.” Sam’s voice, ironically, broke on that last word. “I think that’s why you always believed in no-win scenarios. Why you cheated on the Kobayashi Maru. If you could beat all those other scenarios, save people, maybe… maybe it would make up for not saving the ones in the stadium.”

She took in a shuddering breath, one that made her entire chest shake, and Jim was suddenly reminded that she was still, in many ways, a child. “You made that scream again when Spock died. And then—we all knew. We just _knew_. You don’t make that kind of scream unless… and then he woke up and you two were together and it all just fit.”

That strange tight feeling was back in Jim’s chest again. He felt as though he had to get out of the room. The air seemed to be unusually thin and still.

“I should—” He stood up, his movements feeling jerky and clumsy. “Bones!”

The CMO stuck his head out of one of the storage rooms. “Yeah?”

“Keep Sam company. I’m going to see if Spock and Scotty have worked any of this out.”

He nodded at Sam, who stared at him with her still too-wide eyes and her twisting hands and her lame leg. There was no accusation in her face, no judgment. Jim felt like if she’d held out her arms to him, begging him to stay, it would have been less awkward.

He turned, walking towards the door, forcing himself to keep his pace even and natural. He needed to assess the scientific angle of this situation. He’d learned all the relevant things that Sam could tell him. His actions made perfect sense.

So why did it feel like he was running away?


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy stared at Jim as his friend exited the room. The kid was doing that “I’m totally not hurrying” walk that he did when he was angry or nervous about something but didn’t want anyone to know it.

James T. Kirk, unfortunately, was about as subtle as a kick in the head from a skittish colt.

Despite being in the storage room, he’d heard what their entire new mini Kirk had said; and while he knew that Tarsus IV was a traumatic experience for Jim, he suspected that it was the information about Spock that was really rattling him.

McCoy had never pressed Jim on the nature of his relationship with that hobgoblin—if Jim wanted to be about as observant as a pile of bricks, that was his prerogative. However, if this revelation about his counterpart’s relationship with Spock had really shaken him up…

McCoy sighed. It looked like he might have to have a talk with Jim after all. Probably after a few shots of whiskey.

He approached the bed of his—currently only—patient. Sam looked up at him, her skin a little more flushed than before. She really did look a lot like her brother. The soft, lost look in her eyes, though, that was all her own.

“Will I really lose it?” She asked.

McCoy started. Sam spoke quickly, not giving him a chance to reply. “I know it’s silly, to ask about it. But it is kind of insult to injury, right? To lose a limb after you’ve lost—everything else?”

McCoy felt a sudden rush of sadness for this little girl—because dammit if he could still call Jim a kid then this young thing definitely qualified as “little.” Was she even legal?

She was looking up at him, her eyes just a shade too bright, and her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. This girl had just lost everything—her family, her friends, her very universe—and now she thought she might lose her leg, too.

He might not have what one would call a bedside manner, but he was a doctor, and a damn good one. He knew how to handle a patient. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. You keep that leg up and rested, it’ll heal in no time.”

Sam visibly relaxed at that, some of the tension going out of her hands and arms. McCoy gently pressed against her shoulder and she went back easily, letting him settle her against the pillows.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “My comment, I mean. It was thoughtless.”

“You were trying to figure out where you were,” McCoy replied evenly. “Anyone would've said the same thing.”

Sam blinked, staring into the middle distance. “I can’t tell if I want to cry or go to sleep.”

McCoy felt like chuckling and like crying a little at the same time. She really was a child. “As your doctor, I recommend some sleep. It’ll help you heal.”

Sam nodded, reaching out to press the button that would feed her the sleeping drugs through the IV still attached to her arm. It was done with the ease and practice of someone who’d done it many times before.

“You end up in Sickbay a lot, huh?” McCoy asked, double checking her leg and settling the blankets around her.

“Usually to look after James or Spock,” Sam said around a yawn. “But… yeah… few times. Usually Klingons…”

McCoy knew it was an underhanded move, but he had to ask it now while she was on the edge of sleep. Hopefully that meant she wouldn’t remember him asking about it. “So, Carol and me, huh?”

A slow, sleepy smile teased at the corners of Sam’s lips. “Yeah. You… an’ Carol… make… so happy…”

She roused herself a little, as if fighting off the drugs. “I’m happy you two got away,” she said. Her face was drawn and pale and deadly serious. “I want you two to be happy. Somebody’s got to be, after this.”

McCoy realized that Sam didn’t know she wasn’t talking to her own McCoy, from her own universe.

Before he could correct her or say anything more, Sam sank back against the pillows and fell into slumber.

* * *

Kirk entered Engineering headquarters to find Scotty yelling animatedly at Spock while gesturing wildly at several diagrams pulled up on the glass screen hovering over the table used to write and draw calculations.

“Y’ can’t just dismiss it, Mr. Spock, not when the evidence is—”

“Am I interrupting?” Kirk asked.

“Mr. Scott was just explaining to me that he believes—”

“I don’t be _lieve_ , laddie, I _know_.”

“All right,” Kirk said, “What do you know?”

Scotty and Spock looked at one another for a moment. Then, by some unspoken agreement, Scotty started talking.

“Well, y’ know string theory.”

“The basics,” Kirk replied. “It’s a theory of quantum gravity.”

“Right.” Scotty nodded vigorously. “Think of a—a guitar string, y’know, tha’s been tuned by stretching the string across the guitar, under tension.”

“Okay.”

“If y’ pluck the guitar string, depending on how y’ve tuned it and all, y’ create different musical notes, y’see?”

Scotty pointed to some diagram that apparently illustrated his point. Kirk was far from an idiot, but he had no idea what the diagram was saying.

“Anyway, the theory is that all matter and energy, to put it in layman’s terms, is made up of vibrating filaments. We call them strings. The way those strings vibrate, like a guitar string plucking out a note, determines what that matter and energy is made up of—y’ got it?”

Kirk nodded. He had a feeling that Scotty was grossly simplifying everything, but he didn’t mind.

“So, the way the strings vibrate determines what cosmic laws apply,” Scotty said. He then rambled about gravity and electromagnetism, and at that point Kirk was completely lost, until Spock brought it back around again by saying,

“A fascinating aside is that a sect of Hinduism put forth the theory that the universe is all sound, made of vibrating echoes of sound, that are constantly moving and in flux with one another.”

“It’s a brilliant solution to the General Relativity/Quantum Physics debate,” Scotty added.

Kirk blinked, tried to process all that he had just heard, and cut his losses. “So where do parallel universes come into it?”

“That,” Spock said, “Is what Mr. Scott and I were just discussing.”

“Everyone’s thought of parallel universes existing,” Scotty said, his brogue becoming thicker with his excitement. “Most people think of it as some kind a’ place where our skin is green or the Nazis won World War II or something. But actually it starts much smaller than that.”

“An alternate universe,” Spock cut in, “Is a function of subatomic random possibilities. To illustrate the point, picture an electron orbiting the nucleus at 30 degrees instead of 35.”

“All probabilities are contained in this universe or that one—that’s what makes quantum infinity so gorgeous!” Scotty enthused.

‘Gorgeous’ wasn’t exactly the word that Kirk would have used, but whatever made his Chief Engineer happy.

“In summary,” Spock said, “The critical mass for a new reality is not the large object, such as a woman making a conscious decision to turn left, but rather a random dice game that is played among the infinitesimally small.”

“But that infinitesimally small can lead to some pretty big things,” Kirk pointed out. “Sam’s universe was pretty different from ours, even if you take away the Nero thing, and that was just from her presence.”

“Yes,” Spock conceded. “The apparently small change that a sperm managed to impregnate an egg at one point in time as opposed to another, leading to different environmental factors that resulted in a female child instead of a male, has indeed impacted the life choices and personalities of the people in that universe in various ways.”

“Okay,” Kirk said. “So according to this theory, the universe is essentially made up of sound and strings, and the way the sound vibrates through those strings determines the laws of each universe. That way each possible reality is contained within the ultimate universe all at the same time?”

Spock and Scotty looked at each other, and then at Kirk. “Pretty much,” Scotty said.

Kirk felt kind of like rubbing at his temples but he didn’t want to give them the pleasure of knowing they’d stumped him. “I’m guessing this other _Enterprise_ crew found a way to manipulate those strings somehow?”

“That is what distresses me,” Spock noted. He didn’t look particularly distressed as he said it. “If this crew found a way to manipulate the strings—”

“More likely they didn’t, they jus’ found a way to create some kind a’ transporter that could hop dimensions as well as space,” Scotty said.

“Which is even more concerning,” Spock said, building off of Scotty’s statement, “Because it indicates that they either did not know or did not care what the consequences of their actions would be.”

“And what are the consequences of their actions?” Kirk asked.

Scotty poked at something on the screen. It was a perfect sine wave. “This is wha’ sound looks like, y’see? Waves. A pure tone, it’s called a perfect sine wave, yeah?”

The wave rippled and a low, steady tone emanated from it.

“Now this,” Scotty said, fiddling around, “Is the same tone 180 degrees out of phase.”

The effect was strange and immediate as both tones sounded. It felt like someone was covering and uncovering Kirk’s ears opposite intervals, and at a high rate of speed. His stomach roiled a little and he had the awful sensation of stepping off of a rollercoaster, about to lose his balance. He didn’t realize that he was reaching out to find something to balance himself until Spock caught his arm, steadying him.

“Waves are mathematical,” Scotty explained. “Zero sum. They cancel each other out.”

He fiddled around a minute more until the monitor speakers rose up out of the table. Scotty carefully took the two speakers and had them face each other, only inches apart. He played the tones again.

No sound came out. There was only silence.

Scotty switched off the speakers and placed them back into the table. “Y’see?”

Kirk shook his head and realized that he was still holding onto Spock’s arm. Or, more accurately, he and Spock were holding onto each other’s arm. He straightened up and let his arm drop. Spock took a small step back. He hadn’t even realized that they’d come to stand closer together.

Scotty sighed. “The two tones played at the same frequency and silenced each other. If the strings are the—the music of the universe, to be poetic, and it’s all connected—”

Kirk thought he saw what Scotty was getting at. “So if someone, in trying to mess with the laws of the universe—say, making a transporter that created a wormhole to jump from one dimension to the next—silenced a string, that string would be… it’d be like a domino. It would slow or stop the other strings around it, right? And if one person stopped the string at the same moment that another person stopped another string—”

“Then the music of the universe would be silenced,” Spock said.

“Negation,” Scotty said. “Existence itself, just—” He snapped his fingers. “Poof.”

“And we’re building towards zero hour.” Kirk stared at the diagrams on the screen. “It started when that rogue crew jumped dimensions. That changed a string—and then they killed people, people who would otherwise have lived, changing that universe's fate completely. That was another string. Now Sam’s in another dimension, a third dimension affected—”

“A dimension already weakened by Nero’s time traveling,” Spock noted. Off of Kirk’s confused look he added, “It would be foolish to think that Sam came here by chance, Captain. She stated that she leapt through a second anomaly that had appeared in space. Otherwise she would have ended up in the universe from which this malevolent crew emerged. That second anomaly was not the doing of that crew. It happened on its own, and it happened in our dimension. Our dimension is already fragile; the string, so to speak, already vibrating differently because of Nero’s inadvertent meddling. It is only logical that our dimension be the source of this—”

“This what?” Kirk said, cutting him off. “This… this infinite crisis?”

Neither Scotty nor Spock got the reference.

Kirk took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, so we’ve got two problems on our hands. This renegade crew, first of all. Second of all, we’ve got the possibility of all existence ending. Not even death but turning into literal nothingness. Am I getting this right?”

Scotty nodded. Spock inclined his head in what passed for a nod.

Kirk scrubbed a hand across his face. “There has to be something we can do about it.”

“Na’ really,” Scotty said. “Not until we find out how they created the wormhole in the first place—silenced the string, so t’ speak.”

“So we just have to ‘wait and see’?”

Scotty nodded.

Kirk felt very much like punching a wall.

* * *

Carol stepped gingerly into the room. She wasn’t sure if her hesitance came from her lack of familiarity with the girl, with Sam—they were strangers, in a way, but not strangers at the same time, at least not to Sam—or if her sudden need to practically tiptoe into Sickbay had something to do with Dr. McCoy possibly being there.

Sam was sitting up in bed, looking a little groggy but awake. Carol gave an awkward little wave as she approached and wondered when she became a schoolgirl all over again. “Hello.”

Sam smiled—the same glazed, lopsided smile that Jim gave when he was drugged. Carol was surprised at the resemblance. She wondered if she had siblings in Sam’s world. She wondered if Christine had none. Nero’s attack had changed everything for them. Perhaps Sam’s timeline and relationships were more similar to what this universe’s timeline and relationships should have been?

Carol approached the bed with that continued sense of caution. She wasn’t sure whom she was trying not to spook: Sam or herself. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by. Leonard said you needed rest.”

“I’m bored out of my mind,” Sam replied. “It’s good to talk to someone.”

“Even if that someone is a ghost?” Carol replied, giving a tight-lipped smile.

“You’re not a ghost,” Sam said. “You’re… I can’t explain it.” Her gaze flicked down to Carol’s stomach and then back up again. The movement seemed to have been involuntary, but Sam blushed anyway.

“It must be very disconcerting for you,” Carol said. “To see me.”

“A little.” Sam shifted in her bed, wincing and then glaring down at her leg. “Did you want to know about it?”

Carol was taken aback by the matter-of-fact tone. She hadn’t expected Sam to just state it like that. “I—what makes you think that?”

“Well I mean if I was introduced to someone from a parallel dimension, I’d want to know all about what I’m like in their world.”

“Like if you can pull off a beehive?” Carol asked, referencing Janice’s apparent difference in hairstyles.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, stuff like that.”

Carol sat down in the empty chair by the side of the bed. “In our world,” she began, “There was a madman that attacked us. He destroyed the planet Vulcan and nearly the Earth. After that, Starfleet became more… militaristic. My father was one of the admirals and felt that it was better for us to start the war than be taken by surprise. The best defense is a good offense, I believe is the term.”

Sam’s eyes went round. “Vulcan’s gone?”

Carol nodded. “I’m afraid so. Unfortunately, my father’s actions led me down a different path than I might have otherwise taken. I am in Starfleet, for example. I was wondering what in your world compelled me to be in Starfleet, and on the _Enterprise_ , since Nero apparently does not exist in your timeline.”

Sam mulled that over for a minute. “You’re with us because of me,” she said. “Not to sound, uh, cocky or anything. Actually you’re there because of James, but technically I got to you first. I wavered for a while between command track and science track, and you were visiting the Academy and you were always a big hero of mine, with the Genesis Project, so I wanted to ask your opinion. I thought maybe, if you saw a scientist in me, that would clinch it, and if you didn’t—that would clinch it too. You were really nice, and James crashed our meeting, and convinced you to join Starfleet for the five-year mission before you buried yourself in a lab for the rest of your life.” Sam looked a little sheepish. “His words, not mine.”

“And that is how I came to be on your crew?”

“Yeah. I don’t think you’ll stay forever, though. James and some of the others, they’re careers, y’know. They’ll stay with Starfleet in space forever. But you’ll want to get back to the Genesis Project. And with the baby—” Sam stopped herself. “I’m—wow, I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Sam had segued neatly into the topic Carol had wanted to discuss. “With the baby you feel that I’ll wish to take the opportunity to return to my scientific projects, safe on the ground?”

“Steady nine to five,” Sam replied. “Or five to midnight, knowing you. You’re in the labs more than anyone.”

“And Leonard?”

Sam pulled a face. “Don’t tell James this, but I think Bones was going to go planetside too. Open up a practice or something.”

Carol couldn’t help her smile. That did sound like Leonard. “Do you happen to know what sparked our relationship?”

Sam snorted, then winced as the movement jostled her leg. “No, and neither of you will tell me. Or James. It took us forever to learn you two were dating. Not like Uhura and Scotty, we knew that one right away. The guy wouldn’t knock off whistling.”

Carol almost choked on her own spit, which she hadn’t thought was possible until that moment. “Nyota and—and Mr. Scott?”

Sam stared at her. “Uh, yeah. What, they aren’t dating in this timeline either?” The girl looked around, as if there was going to be a film crew lurking around. “What kind of sexual tension filled mess did I walk into?”

Carol, unfortunately, had no answer for that.

* * *

Kirk continued to pace. “There has to be something more we can do besides ‘wait and see.’”

“There doesn’t seem t’ be, Captain,” Scotty replied, his accent becoming thicker as his agitation rose.

“Well, we can’t go to Camus II, not like this.” Kirk stopped pacing and punched in the code for Uhura. “Can you keep the brass off our back if they call?”

Uhura’s voice was as calm as ever. “I don’t see why they would, sir, but if they do I’m sure I can placate them.”

Placate. That was the perfect word for it. “You do that. Kirk out.”

He turned back to face the others. “Okay. Okay first of all, Scotty, I want you and your team to try and reconstruct the anomaly. If we know exactly how it works, then maybe we can predict when and where it’ll happen again.”

“Captain if I may note that such an attempt could further damage the fabric of existence—”

“I’m aware, Mr. Spock, thank you, but we don’t have a lot of options right now and we can’t combat the enemy if we don’t know what their weapons are. Besides, if we figure out how they did it then maybe we can find a way to reverse it. Scotty? Get on it.”

“Righ’ away,” Scotty replied, hurrying out the door. Kirk could hear him talking to Gaila on the comm. as he exited. From the list of equipment he was rattling off, it sounded like the guy was planning to create a bomb.

Kirk tried not to think about that.

“Captain.” Spock’s hands were clasped behind his back instead of at his sides—never a good sign. “You are aware that it is only a matter of time until this alternate crew appears in our universe.”

“I am.”

“And are you aware that this unit of time will in all probability happen before Mr. Scott is able to complete his experiments?”

Jim looked back at his First Officer—really _looked_. Spock’s shoulders were just a little bit back, his hands were clasped, his head wasn’t tilted in any way but straight, almost like a ruler, Jim thought.

Contrary to almost everyone’s belief, Spock was not, in fact, stiff. Jim was certain that nobody except for Uhura and himself knew it, but Spock was rarely ever one hundred percent rigid. There was a slight slope in his shoulders that suggested he wasn’t holding them as tightly as he could, and increasingly his mouth would soften or twitch when he thought nobody could see. The few times he actually were completely stiff were when he was trying to hold in an emotion of some kind. It was usually anger.

But Jim couldn’t think what Spock could be angry about, and unless he knew what it was, it wouldn’t do any good to ask him. Spock usually gave in when Jim named exactly why he was pissed, but if Jim was just grasping at straws Spock would know it and he wouldn’t give any leeway. This was a concerning situation, yeah, but not one to get angry about. Okay, sure, it was a little disconcerting—all right, very disconcerting—to know that another version of you had died, and it was a hell of a problem that existence itself was probably beginning to unravel, but—

Wait, was that it?

Jim didn’t think that Spock feared death, though. He’d said as much, about the volcano. Jim was pretty sure that was what had broken up Spock and Uhura. Not that their relationship hadn’t been fraying for a while. It wasn’t bad, at least as far as Jim could tell. It had just… stagnated. That had been what Spock had said, anyway.

All right, so technically Spock had said, “Uhura and I had come to the understanding that our relationship, while based on mutual affection, was no longer fulfilling our romantic needs and had, indeed, reached a plateau from which we were not moving. It is in the nature of such a relationship to evolve, and we were no longer evolving. Therefore it was deemed logical to terminate the romantic nature of our relationship and continue as friends.”

In other words: stagnation.

That was getting off track, though. The point was that when Spock had been faced with death, he had chosen to not be afraid and just be logical. There was no reason for Jim to think that he’d be any other way now. So, what could he possibly be angry about?

Unless it wasn’t anger? Perhaps it was something else?

He realized that Spock was still waiting for his answer. “Yes, I’m aware. But it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Is this another one of your attempts at beating a no-win scenario, Captain?”

Jim grinned. “You’re damn right it is. C’mon, we should head up to the bridge. Oh, and did I tell you what Sam told me about her universe?”

Spock fell into step beside him, hands still clasped behind his back. “No, you did not.”

“She said that—”

The thing was, he was going to tell Spock about how their positions had been reversed, how Spock had been the one that had died instead of him when Khan had attacked—but the words stuck in his throat. It was like there was some kind of stone lodged in there, the rough edges scraping and tearing against the soft pink inner flesh.

He couldn’t get the words out, not those words. _You were dead_ , he wanted to blurt out, but they weren’t coming. Why weren’t they coming? That other Spock had been brought back and been fine until—until the situation that had brought Sam to them. Why was it so hard for him to say those words?

Instead he found himself saying, “—that you and I were bonded, in her universe.”

Spock came to such an abrupt halt that Jim almost tripped over his own feet trying to stop in time with him. “Would you care to repeat that, Captain?”

“Sam said that you and I were bonded in her universe.” Jim tried to grin but found that it felt crooked on his face. Why was Spock staring at him like that? Like—like—he didn’t even know ‘what like.’ “Funny, right?”

“Yes,” Spock said. “Most amusing.”

He’d said something wrong. Spock was speaking in that completely toneless voice, that complete Vulcan voice, and he only used that when he was completely shutting down emotionally because Jim had phenomenally fucked up and insulted his dead mother or something.

“If you will allow me, Captain, I believe I would be most useful assisting Mr. Scott and the engineering crew. I think it is best that the science officers work with engineering in this matter. Do I have your permission to leave?”

Jim wanted to call him out on that tone—that was his _I’m requesting permission but only because I absolutely have to_ tone—but he didn’t. Something had upset Spock, and if it was something that Jim had said. He couldn’t snap at him for that. “Spock, if I said something—”

“There is no need to apologize, Captain. I am merely making a suggestion. I believe this experiment will go more quickly if the engineering and science divisions work together. It is logical.”

“Right, of course.” It was logical. More like it was a load of bullcrap. “Keep me updated.”

“Certainly, Captain.”

Jim watched his First Officer heading down the corridor. Spock’s hands seemed to be not so much clasped together as grasping one another, as if he were holding himself back from something.

What in the hell was going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My incredibly amateur explanation of string theory is taken from Brian Greene's "Our Elegant Universe."


	6. Chapter 6

It had been fifteen hours, four minutes and sixteen seconds since the girl called Sam had leapt through a wormhole to land in another dimension.

The last three hours of that had been Kirk wandering the bowels of the _Enterprise_. He wanted to know every inch of his ship, and he liked to think that he now knew most of her. She was his one lady. Not that he didn’t have other, temporary, ladies. And gentlemen. And variations thereupon. But he always came back to her.

He’d never let another crew take her down.

Fifteen hours, four minutes and sixteen seconds.

Sulu and Uhura were probably wondering where he was, but they hadn’t contacted him so he knew that nothing had changed. They were just floating in space, hovering, really, waiting. Just… waiting.

He hated waiting. That had always been the worst part of any situation he’d been in. He preferred action, doing something, anything, to try and resolve or get out of the situation. It was why he’d always, inevitably, found himself doing something stupid when he got back to Iowa after Tarsus IV. He’d had those screams and dull hungry eyes and chapped lips in his head, and he’d had no idea what to do with his life but he couldn’t sit still either. It had all culminated in a bar fight with a bunch of Starfleet security cadets—including Cupcake, who was now head of security on the _Enterprise_.

Funny how life worked.

But now he could feel that old restlessness stirring in his blood, making his bones and teeth ache. It had been a while. Okay, sure, in between the exploratory missions that involved things like getting shot at with poison-tipped arrows and dealing with weird dinosaur-like creatures there were weeks of mind-numbing warp travel through space, but even those weeks had paperwork to fill out (lots of probably unnecessary paperwork), and he could spar with Spock and Sulu and play chess and generally deal with the fallout from whatever their last mission was—because there was always fallout, at least where the admirals were concerned.

In other words, he hadn’t been without anything to do since before he’d joined the Academy. It had all been a whirlwind since then. Trying to graduate in three years had doubled his workload, and then there had been Nero, and then he’d had only a year in their five-year mission, and then Khan, and then the second “first year” of the five-year mission (since, apparently, interrupting that mission to save the Federation meant the clock got set back). It had been long days and long nights, work and play all intermingled together—the _Enterprise_ had gotten a bit of a reputation as a party ship, but with her crew, on average, a good five to ten years younger than other crews, it was understandable—but it had never been dull, and that was something Jim couldn’t stand.

It was dangerous to leave him alone with his thoughts for too long.

Like now.

He’d never been good with the introspection thing. He was an asshole and he knew it, what else was there to think about? He’d been dealt a shitty hand and he’d dealt shit out in return because it was all he knew. Maybe that wasn’t how the others saw him, although who knew where they got their faith from, but it was the truth. The James T. Kirk that all of them knew, that was a new creature. It was someone that he was still trying to figure out how to be. Ever since he’d felt that other Spock’s mind, and seen the glimpse of the man that he could be, had once been—he’d wanted to be that. He’d wanted to be _more_.

He liked to think that he was succeeding, at least partially. Spock didn’t hate him anymore, for one thing. In fact, after everything with Khan they were actual _friends_ now. His crew trusted him and seemed to genuinely like him on top of that. He was starting to trust himself, too. He no longer questioned or second-guessed every one of his decisions, glancing over at Spock to see if he had done the right thing or if he had just fucked everything up.

Didn’t change the fact that this Kirk, Captain Kirk, was a new person. And all he could hope was that he was doing it right.

Now there was this girl, Sam, who looked at him like he’d hung the moon. It was guarded, because she was well aware that he wasn’t the same person she’d grown up with, but still, it was there. He could see it shining in her eyes when she described Tarsus IV to him, hear it in trembling in her voice as she talked of his death. This girl had a James T. Kirk that she worshipped, and what’s more, it sounded like this Kirk was worthy of her worship.

How would she look at him when she knew the truth? How would she feel when she saw her hero brother in the form of this man, damaged and bitter and lacking all innocence?

He knew, intellectually, that he didn’t owe Sam anything. Yet he couldn’t stop that old acidic feeling curling in his stomach, like he’d just eaten a lemon. He’d disappointed his mother just by existing—just looking at him gave her pain. He’d disappointed his brother by heralding the end of all joy. He’d disappointed Frank by—well, he wasn’t sure how, exactly, but it was Frank so who gave a fuck.

He’d disappointed Pike, right before he’d died.

He refused to disappoint his crew, although a part of him knew that he inevitably would. It happened every time he sent them down on away missions and not all of them came back. It happened every time he disagreed with Spock or Bones or Uhura or when he lost his temper and barked a little at Chekov or Rand. Someday, he knew, they wouldn’t forgive him for it. Someday they’d resent him.

Was it really all that crazy that he didn’t want to disappoint this girl too?

Jim crawled up into a Jeffries tube. He’d hid in them ever since Scotty had shown them to him. Nobody except Spock and Scotty ever thought to look for him there, and Jim still didn’t know how Spock had figured out his hiding space, but it didn’t matter. Spock had vanished to help Scotty with figuring out how to convert a transporter to hop dimensions. Neither of them would be bothering him.

What was up with Spock, anyway?

And for that matter, what was up with Jim?

He hadn’t expected the news of Spock’s death to rattle him that much. And yet he found himself—when he pictured it being Spock instead of him stuck behind that glass, slowly dying from radiation, skin yellowing and eyes becoming bloodshot—it made him feel—

It scared him.

Kirk curled up in the tube, feeling a little like when he was a kid and he was hiding from Frank, or when he'd been curled up in the entrance of the caves in Tarsus, afraid to sleep in case he missed hearing soldiers approaching.

He’d been afraid when he’d been dying. He hadn’t wanted to die, and he’d had no idea what was going to happen afterwards. The idea of not living was terrifying. He hadn’t wanted to leave his ship, either, or his crew. His family.

He doubted they felt that way about him, but he sure as hell considered them family. Bones, of course, but Chekov too, like the little brother he’d never had, full of energy and hope and innocence. Sulu, always ready to go on an adventure, brimming with sly humor, and always taking Jim’s side in an argument. Uhura, with her ‘mom friend’ status, managing to be sexy and terrifying at the same time, and never losing her head even when the rest of them were all screaming at each other. Rand, with her bouncy step and her wide smile, cheering the rest of them up (and sweet on Gaila, if he wasn’t mistaken). Scotty constantly calling up to them from Engineering, shouting things and cursing and generally being a source of hilarious chaos. Chapel, with her ability to calm down anyone and her open, incredibly loving nature. She’d been the one who’d figured out how to get the replicator to make plomeek soup when Spock was sick. And there was Marcus, of course. Sassy, always taking Spock’s side, always at your elbow when there was a crisis, and taking no shit from anyone. Someday Marcus and Uhura were going to team up and take over the entire damn galaxy and none of them would be able to stop it.

He hadn’t wanted to leave them.

And he hadn’t wanted to leave Spock, either.

Jim’s head shot straight up and he banged it against the tube. “Fuck!”

He rubbed at his forehead, hoping it wouldn’t bruise. Why was he putting Spock in a category separate from everyone else? The guy was family too, same as the rest of them. He was Jim’s friend.

But… _friend_ and _brother_ just didn’t seem to—not that it didn’t fit, it just didn’t fully encompass…

 _You couldn’t stop him._ Sam’s voice replayed in his head. _You got there in time to see him die._

Maybe it was just his memory playing tricks on him, but she’d sounded oddly sympathetic. It was probably just because she had just lost all the people that she loved, so she knew what it felt like to see a member of your family…

_You should have seen yourself, going after Khan. You almost killed him… you beat him almost within an inch of his life, y’know that?_

He couldn’t help but wonder if Spock had done the same for him when he’d died, because he knew, with a strange swift clenching in his guts, that he would have gone crazy. If Spock had the idea before he did, if Spock had been the one to realign the core, then Jim would have stopped at nothing to make Khan pay. He’d have made it so the man’s face was nothing more than smashed-in pulp.

It felt like he was on the very edge of something, like when he was grasping for the answer to a complicated question on a test and he knew that he knew it, if he could just reach that elusive solution…

And then the anomaly appeared.

He could sense it almost as it happened. It was like a sense of _wrongness_ filled him, seeping deep into the core of himself. It felt like something had shifted, almost imperceptibly.

He was already running for the bridge when Sulu yelled for him on the comm.

* * *

He burst onto the bridge to find everyone already in battle position with the exception of Spock and Marcus, who were probably still down with Scotty. Bones would still be in the Sickbay.

“It’s happening,” Sulu said as Kirk entered the room. Sure enough, the space in front of them seemed to be stretching and contracting, folding almost, before it seemed to rip open and expose that terrifying void.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Kirk yelled. “Shields up!” He punched in the combination to reach security. “Hendorff, I need you to launch a shuttle.”

“Sir?” Sulu twisted back in his chair to look at him.

“Our weapons won’t fire unless they lock onto a specific target. We send that shuttle into the void and fire at it, there’s a good chance that we’ll hit this other _Enterprise_ as well.”

Sulu nodded at that and turned back to face the void.

A moment later the shuttle was launched towards the wormhole, and Kirk gave the order. “Fire at will!”

Some of the beams actually hit the shuttle, but it was a tiny target and most of them, as he’d predicted, went wild. Just as they entered the void, however, he could see the beams exploding—they’d hit something.

As if in retaliation, beams began firing back at them. The crew jumped into the evasive maneuvers, dodging and weaving as Sulu and Chekov guided them carefully backwards, slowly giving ground to allow their enemy to emerge from the void.

“They’re going to try and cripple us,” Kirk observed to Rand. She was standing at his elbow as usual, her PADD ready in her hand in case he needed to dictate something to her. “But we’re ready for them.”

“They could still do us considerable damage,” Rand noted.

“I’m hoping they’ll try another tact,” Kirk replied.

Rand turned to look at him. “Sir?”

“If Ensign Kirk’s account is accurate, this other group is led by Spock. And no Spock is going to just beat a problem into submission. If he sees that this tactic isn’t working, he’s going to try another one rather than continue to risk his ship.” He smiled grimly. “It’s only logical.”

“Of course.” Rand nodded, her attention drifting back to her PADD as she saw the ship-wide reports come in. “You know Commander Spock best, sir.”

Kirk swiveled a little in his chair to ask what she meant, but then Uhura cleared her throat. “Sir. They’re hailing us.”

He jerked his head at Rand. “Get Commander Spock up on the bridge immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Rand turned neatly on her heel—only to almost run smack into the Vulcan himself.

“Ah, Spock.” Kirk nodded at Uhura. “You’re just in time.”

“I presume that my counterpart is hailing us?” Spock still had his hands clasped behind his back, but that was usual for when they were interacting with someone over the visual communicator.

“We have contact,” Uhura said.

Spock came to take his place on Kirk’s right side as Kirk stood up, both of them getting into position just as the video feed opened and they were faced with another Spock.

Kirk had to stifle a snort. Sam hadn’t been kidding about the goatee thing. It made this Spock look kind of ridiculous, if Kirk was being honest, but he didn’t think the guy would appreciate Kirk making comments on his appearance. Standing behind this Spock and to his right was another Uhura. She was currently sporting some kind of cut-off top that bared the majority of her stomach. Kirk thought he could see a long diagonal scar cutting across her otherwise perfect six-pack. Another Rand stood a little farther back on that Spock’s left side, her hair twisted into one long, snaking braid. There was a nasty looking hooked blade of some kind on the end of the braid, and she wasn’t smiling. He couldn’t see anyone else, but he assumed that at least an alternate Sulu and Chekov were at the helm.

“Greetings,” this other Spock said. “I am Captain Spock of the _I.S.S. Enterprise_. Doubtless you recognize me—I see that my mirror is in attendance.”

“We know who you are,” Kirk replied, feeling Spock stiffen minutely, “And we know why you’re here.”

It occurred to him that if he and Spock were standing close enough together that he could  _feel_ Spock stiffen, they were probably standing too close. On the other hand, didn't they always stand this close?

“Do you though?” Not-Spock asked. “I would put forth the hypothesis, Captain, that you are working with limited and faulty information.”

The Not-Rand’s PADD did something to get her attention, because she looked down at it and then held it out to show the other Uhura. The two women exchanged some words, and then the other Uhura left the bridge. Not-Spock seemed not to pay them any mind.

“All right then,” Kirk replied. He would have sunk back into his chair, if he’d been sitting in it. As it was he just put his hands on his hips. “Enlighten me.”

“Our world is very different from yours,” Not-Spock said. “We are a part of the Terran Empire, a dominating and domineering force in the universe.”

“Vulcans would never agree to be part of such an empire,” Spock refuted. “Our culture is based on logic and peace. Surely the people of Earth learned this during First Contact?”

“They might have,” Not-Spock chuckled, which in and of itself was strange enough even without the idle malice behind it, “If one of the Terran leaders had not shot the Vulcan initiating first contact and killed him.”

Kirk could feel the entire atmosphere in the room shift. The non-humans in the room looked around at their human coworkers, who all seemed to be experiencing various stages of shock. Warfare had once been a normal state of affairs for humanity, but they’d achieved a promising level of peace by the time the Vulcans had initiated First Contact. Something must have gone differently in Earth history, then. Something had made them continue to war against one another.

“The Terran Empire has since absorbed Vulcan into its ranks,” Not-Spock went on. “I shall not go into particulars, since they will be of little interest to you. Suffice to say, my crew and I are a part of an exploratory five-year mission to discover other worlds that we may utilize in our war against the Klingon and Romulan Empires.”

“Sounds fun,” Kirk replied in a deadpan.

Not-Spock arched his eyebrow in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Jim’s Spock. Kirk tried hard to ignore the sickening lurch in his stomach. “Promotion is often achieved through assassination of one’s superior officer, but on the _Enterprise_ , we have come to rely upon our captain.”

“You’re talking about yourself in the third person now?” Kirk asked. “What, using the royal we?”

“I am referring to my late bondmate, Captain James Tiberius Kirk.”

It felt like he’d been punched in the gut—and he had been punched in the gut, several times in fact, so he knew what it felt like. “Excuse me?”

“Captain Kirk,” Not-Spock went on, “Realized that the Terran Empire could not continue in this state. An empire based on violence cannot last. It is illogical. We were planning, as a crew, to make our way up through the ranks of the Empire and promote our captain to the highest level of authority, whereupon we would institute a more peaceful and logical reign. Unfortunately, Captain Kirk died before this was able to come to pass. Naturally we considered the option of continuing on without him, with myself taking his place, but we found that we lacked the necessary charisma and personality that our captain possessed. Our mission could not continue without him. Nor did we wish it to.

“It was then that we devised a means of temporarily visiting other dimensions, where we could seek out an alternate version of our captain, assimilate him into our crew and, through my telepathic abilities, instill him with the personality of our captain. We would have our leader back, and our plan could move forward as planned.”

“So you want to kidnap and then brainwash me?” Kirk hoped he didn’t sound as close to vomiting as he felt. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not jumping with joy, here.”

“To be perfectly honest, Captain, I did not think that you would be,” Not-Spock replied. “But although we are dark mirrors of you, we are mirrors nonetheless. And I had planned for such a contingency.”

There was the sound of the comm. coming to life, a crash, and then a long, drawn-out scream.

“James!” It was Sam. “Sickbay to bridge! Sickbay to bridge! We’re— _Chapel no!_ ”

The sound cut out.

Kirk turned, slowly, to look Mirror Spock in the eye.

“You’re a fucking bastard, you know that?”

And then the bridge erupted into chaos.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam watched Carol as she left Sickbay, passing Chapel on her way out. Sam raised a hand to wave at the Head Nurse, but before she could, Bones emerged from his office.

“What was that about?” He asked, jerking his head at Carol’s retreating back.

“Oh, she just wanted to know what happened with her father in my universe,” Sam said.

Bones could probably tell she was lying, but she didn’t particularly care. It was far from the last time she’d lied to Bones, although usually she’d been lying about what James was up to.

The doctor turned to look at Chapel, who was approaching them. “Chapel, did you read the report on—”

That was when Sam saw the scalpel.

* * *

Scotty heard the soft _whoosh_ of the doors as they opened. He almost banged his head as he emerged from the machinery, cursing, but caught himself as he saw who it was. “Lt. Uhura? What are you doing down here?”

“My job,” Uhura said sweetly. Then she raised the phaser.

* * *

Dr. M’Benga looked up from his microscope as Dr. Marcus entered, but he didn’t approach her. She was busy dealing with the wormhole incident, and he had no reason to disturb her. A few other science officers, however, came up to ask her some questions about the project, wanting her advice.

He didn’t realize that anything was wrong until one of the officers hit the ground.

Dead.

* * *

Gamma shift security team were off-duty, so they were sparring together. It wasn’t unusual for the captain or for Mr. Sulu to join them, but both of them were on Alpha shift and it was smack in the middle of Alpha shift at the moment—not to mention the captain had put all of Alpha shift on-deck because of the wormhole thing.

The captain had tried to keep the information from spiraling into rumor but, well, this was a relatively small community. People talked.

So it was with surprise that the security team saw Mr. Sulu enter the room as if to join them in their sparring matches.

“Everything okay up there?” Lt. Ker’chung-negel asked, her third eyelids blinking slowly.

Sulu drew his sword. The security officers stared. Had he always had that scar on his face?

Sulu smiled like he knew something nasty about their sisters. “Everything’s going perfectly.”

* * *

“Bones!” Sam screamed. “Look out!”

Chapel’s face contorted into a snarl of rage and she leapt at McCoy. The doctor tried to dodge but tripped over the table of operating supplies that he’d used to fix up Sam’s leg and he went sprawling. Chapel was on top of him in a second, trying to stab him with the scalpel.

Sam flung herself out of the bed. Her leg gave a dull throb but she didn’t care—if she didn’t do something, Chapel was going to kill Bones and then probably her.

She began hobbling over towards the comm.

“You keep your weight off that leg!” McCoy shouted, struggling on the ground with Chapel.

Sam ignored him and paged the bridge—just as she did so, McCoy did something that made Chapel let out a scream of rage. “James!” She yelled, unable to stop herself. Old habits and all that. She cleared her throat. “Sickbay to bridge! Sickbay to bridge!”

McCoy gave a shout of pain and Sam whirled around, her finger still on the comm. She could see blood on the scalpel. “Chapel, no!”

She launched herself at the nurse, sending both of them rolling across the floor. Chapel landed up on top by kicking Sam in the leg, making her curl up involuntarily as new pain shot through it. Chapel made to bring the scalpel down on Sam’s face, possibly her throat, but Sam got her hand up just in time to grab Chapel’s wrist.

Chapel brought all of her weight to bear down on Sam’s leg and she had to grit her teeth against the pain. Then Chapel seemed to realize that it would be better to place her weight on Sam’s other side, the undamaged side, so that Sam couldn’t use it against her.

Sam held on tight, the scalpel inches from her face—and used her bad knee to hit Chapel smack in the stomach.

* * *

Scotty managed to dodge the phaser, having seen it in her hand just in time. He could feel it scorching his uniform even as he ducked and launched himself forward, tackling Uhura around the waist. One more inch inward and the phaser would have hit him in the shoulder, killing him.

They landed on the floor, both of them fighting for the gun. Now that he was inches away from her face, he could see that this wasn’t his—their—Uhura. This Uhura practically bared her teeth at him, a feral action that the Uhura he knew would never have done. Scotty managed to get on top, straddling her, and gave up on the search for the phaser. He reared back with his right fist and dealt her a right hook to the temple.

Her head snapped to the side, her eyes fluttering shut, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t as easy to knock someone out with one blow as the movies claimed, and he’d worried that he’d have to hit her a few times to get her to go down. And, their Uhura or not, he didn’t feel comfortable about it.

He yelled into his comm. while searching for something to tie this Uhura’s hands with. “Scotty to bridge.”

“Scotty?” Kirk seemed to be yelling into the comm. from very far away. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, we’ve just got a bit of a situation on our hands—”

“You’re telling me!”

Scotty recognized the sound of phaser fire. “With all due respect Captain, what the hell is going on up there!?”

* * *

What was going on was that a firefight had broken out on the bridge. Mirror versions of Rand, several of the security team, and Chekov had all burst into the room, firing at will, and no one had been in any doubt that the phasers were set to kill. Currently the two versions of Rand were locked in a fierce battle, Prime Rand (as Kirk as calling them in his head) putting her long legs to good use while Mirror Rand swung her braid like it was a whip, trying to use the blade at the tip to slice at her counterpart’s face and neck.

Mirror Chekov—after that other Spock’s comment, Kirk had taken to calling them Mirror People in his head—was duking it out with both Sulu and Prime Chekov. The problem was that these mirror counterparts knew the fighting styles of the crew, and were able to effectively counter and defend against the majority of their moves.

Kirk punched one of the mirror security members in the face and ducked to avoid another phaser blast. He felt someone grab his elbow and he whirled around on his heel, ready to hit them—and found himself facing Spock.

“Captain.” Spock’s breathing was only marginally heavier than usual, the only sign that he had been exerting himself. “I suggest that you leave the bridge immediately.”

“No.”

Kirk tried to move, but found that his First Officer’s grip was like iron. “It is you they are after, Captain. The logical course of action is to remove yourself from the situation in order to better deprive them of their goal.”

“Spock, the only reason they’re holding back at all is because I’m here.” Kirk gestured around them at the all-out brawl. “They’re still nervous about accidentally killing or hurting me, like they did the Kirk in Sam’s world. If I leave, they won’t hold back anymore. You’ll all be dead.”

“That is our concern, is it not?”

“No.” Kirk found himself growling the word. “I’m our captain, and I’m not leaving you—any of you.”

He wrenched himself out of Spock’s grip and turned to fire at Mirror Chekov.

* * *

M’Benga crashed back against the wall and felt his spine crack. Hopefully none of his vertebrae had gotten bruised. That would be a long and painful recovery.

Other Marcus, this strange, brutal Carol Marcus, strode towards him. “Your counterpart was competition for my position.” A wicked smile graced her features, making her look like the villainess in a spy film. “I was forced to assassinate him quickly given the circumstances. I shall have fun making your death nice and slow.”

She grabbed him by the collar, and he found that her grip was surprisingly strong. She leaned in, her face barely an inch from his.

“I shall especially enjoy hearing your screams.”

M’Benga wished he could think of something snappy to say, but time was of the essence.

He drew her phaser from her side holster, switched it to stun and fired it into her side.

* * *

Sam brought her knee up again and again, slamming it into Chapel. She could feel the bones breaking anew as her cast started to come apart, but she kept going, her hands tightening around Chapel’s wrist as she fought to keep that scalpel from digging into her face.

“You… little…” Chapel hissed—and then there was the distinctive _ping_ of a phaser.

Chapel’s eyes went wide, the scalpel falling out of her hand. Sam gasped and jerked her head to the side, the scalpel just missing her cheek as it fell and clattered against the floor. All of the color drained out of Chapel’s face as she slumped down, right on top of Sam’s bad leg.

Sam swore as loudly as she could, tears springing up in her eyes. _Fuck_ that hurt.

“Damn it,” McCoy swore, dropping the phaser and wrapping his arms around the now-dead Chapel. “Your cast is busted.”

“Your shirt,” Sam said dumbly, pointing. Chapel had managed to slice McCoy’s chest and shoulder, and both cuts were soaking his shirt with blood.

“Surface wounds, don’t worry.” McCoy hauled the corpse to the side and then crouched down, working his arms underneath Sam’s torso.

“You killed her,” Sam noted. “You didn’t stun her, you killed her.”

“You’re very observant,” McCoy replied dryly. “I wasn’t going to take any risks. A doctor takes care of his patient.”

He hauled her up into his arms, bridal style, taking care with her bad leg. “The bridge is going to be the safest place right now, unless we’re abandoning ship. Hang on.”

Sam wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hang on?” She asked.

McCoy nodded, tightening his grip on her. “I have a feeling we’re going to have to make a run for it.”

* * *

Unfortunately, the bridge was just as chaotic as the rest of the ship. As they’d made their way through they’d seen many couples, a lot of them counterparts of one another, battling it out. Sam had hoped that when they got to the bridge James would have things in control, but when they got there—

“Son of a bitch,” McCoy swore.

It was utter insanity. Spock and Kirk were tag-teaming it against three alternate members of security. Uhura was bashing what looked like an alternate version of Chekov over the head with her chair, and Rand was dealing her double a vicious roundhouse kick. Sulu was taking up the middle of the bridge and fencing against, well, himself, the two of them clanging swords and shouting at each other in Japanese while a worried Chekov tried to intercede but kept having to leap out of the way of the flashing blades.

“Maybe we should go back to Sickbay?” Sam suggested.

Before McCoy could answer there was a yelp and then Rand—regular or alternate, Sam couldn’t tell—went flying into them. All three went crashing to the floor. Sam screamed as her leg was smashed yet again.

Both Rand and McCoy scrambled to their feet and—yes, that was alternate Rand. She had a wicked blade tied into the end of her whip-like braid.

“We wondered if you would turn up,” she snarled at Sam. She jerked her head and the braid swung around, the knife headed right for her. Sam ducked, bringing her arms up to block Rand’s secondary attack of a roundhouse, bracing her forearms against Rand’s and then twisting, turning to smash her fists right against the base of Rand’s skull. She switched her fists to a grip, holding on tight to the woman’s neck as she brought her good knee up, smashing Rand’s nose against it. The woman reeled back, nose gushing blood, and Sam braced her hands on the floor, using them as leverage to get both her legs up and smash her feet into Rand’s chest, sending her flying back into her counterpart, who promptly hit her with a phaser she’d snatched up from the floor.

Sam’s legs went crashing back down and she whimpered. She looked around for McCoy but he was currently helping Uhura tie up an unconscious alternate Chekov. It looked like the battle was finally turning in their favor—Kirk and Spock were steadily making their way through the ranks of the alternates. They made a deadly team no matter what universe they were in, Sam thought. In the center of the room it looked like their Sulu was losing, until Sam realized that he was purposefully inviting the other Sulu to get cocky, which made him focus more on his supposedly downed opponent, which in turn meant he didn’t realize that Chekov had finally managed to get behind him with a phaser and stunned him from behind.

Someone launched themselves at Sam and she reacted instinctively, bracing herself against the floor again and swinging her legs out to knock them off balance, sending them to the floor. It was someone from security. They—she couldn’t tell if it was a he or a she and maybe they were both or neither—reached for her but she rolled to the side, grabbing someone’s phaser and firing.

It was as if that fire was the signal for the end of the battle. She looked up, and saw that everyone else had finished off their opponent.

Something warm and wet seemed to be soaking across her now completely shredded cast.

“Uh, Miss… Sam?”

She looked up. It was Chekov. He pointed at her leg, his eyes round and more than a little concerned.

Sam looked too. _Oh, shit._

Her leg was bleeding.

* * *

All in all, they had captured four of them, the others dying in the heat of battle. Chekov, Sulu, Marcus and Uhura.

Kirk had them put in the same glass cell that Khan had once stood in.

He watched them now, trying to size them up. Scotty and M’Benga had told him about their encounters. It looked like they had been trying to take over the ship from the inside, killing everyone except for Kirk.

It made him want to throttle them—all of them—bare handed.

“What do you think?” He asked, keeping his voice low.

Next to him, Spock’s gaze carefully roamed over the four occupants in the cell. Sulu was pacing. Chekov was muttering in Russian. Uhura sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead as if everyone else didn’t exist. Marcus stood there, gazing out at them, a teasing smile playing about the corners of her lips.

“Uhura is the one in charge,” Spock announced. “She took the First Officer’s place on the bridge when we spoke with this other Spock. Dr. Marcus is enjoying herself. There is a high probability that she believes that her imprisonment will be temporary. I believe that Sulu is suffering from mild claustrophobia. Chekov is merely complaining about his bruised ribs.”

“Weird, isn’t it?” Kirk asked. Spock arched an eyebrow at him. “I mean, look at them Spock. They look almost the same, but they don’t at the same time. They hold themselves differently. They walk and talk differently. They’re the same person but they’re completely different. That doesn’t give you the heebie-jeebies a little?”

“The only thing that perturbs me,” Spock replied, “Is the possibility of individuals of such a nature getting a hold of you.”

“What should we do with them, sir?” Cupcake asked.

Kirk thought about that for a moment. “Let’s see if this Spock will bargain with us,” he replied.

“I do not believe that he will,” Spock replied.

“What makes you think that?” Kirk gestured at the cell. “He’s lost a good number of his crew and now four of his most valuable members are locked up, including his helmsman, his navigator, his CO and First Officer and his Chief Science Officer. It’d be illogical of him not to accept some kind of negotiation.”

“Captain,” Spock said, that odd note back in his voice, “When will you realize that when it comes to your person, people, even Vulcans, are rarely logical?”

* * *

In deference to her leg, Chekov helped McCoy carry Sam back to Sickbay. “I shouldn’t’ve taken you up there,” the doctor muttered. “Should’ve just locked you in the damn supply closet.”

“I’m fine,” Sam replied. “I can hardly even feel it.” That was a boldfaced lie, but whatever. It wasn’t McCoy’s fault.

“You’ve probably severed something,” McCoy said, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Good thing we’ve got a facility ready to go right here or I wouldn’t be surprised if you bled out. Help me lift her.”

Chekov helped to lie Sam down on the biobed. “Oh, joy, back here again,” Sam said. She couldn’t hide her irritation that she was going to be stuck in a bed once more, unable to really move or be a part of the action.

“You be quiet,” McCoy replied. “And thank your lucky stars it’s not infected. What were you doing, kneeing Chapel like that?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice at that point,” Sam retorted. McCoy started opening up the remains of her cast, and the simple change of touch against her leg made her gasp. She squeezed tightly at Chekov’s hand, making her knuckles white. She didn’t know when she’d started holding his hand and she didn’t care. The pain had started and it was going to get a lot worse before it got better.

“How bad is it?”

Chekov glanced down at her leg. If she was holding his hand too tightly, he gave no sign of it. “It’s…” He swallowed, his face saying it all. “It is going to be fine, Miss Sam. Dr. McCoy is the best in the fleet.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” Sam replied. She squeezed his hand again and let off a stream of expletives as McCoy gingerly poked at her knee.

“Yup, a shard of bone severed something,” McCoy pronounced. “I’m putting you under, this is going to take awhile.”

“Can’t you just give me some anesthesia?” She asked. “I don’t want to sleep again.”

“This isn’t childbirth,” McCoy snapped. “You don’t have to be awake for this.”

Sam said nothing, knowing that his crankiness was merely an offshoot of his concern. Her leg must be bad, but she didn’t for a second regret her actions. McCoy would have died otherwise, and she’d had no choice but to defend herself once Chapel was on top of her and when she was on the bridge. “Where’s James?” She asked. The only other time she’d needed surgery had been after a sword had lodged in her arm during an away mission that involved some surprisingly hostile natives, and she’d had James with her to hold her hand the entire time. She knew it wasn’t the same person but she still wanted him with her anyway.

“He’s going to be interrogating the prisoners,” Chekov said. Sam wanted to laugh at his accent and bit her lip hard to stop herself. “Do you need him?”

She wanted to say yes, but she knew that he had more important things to attend to. “No. Just… hold my hand until I go under?”

Chekov nodded with complete seriousness, like she’d asked him to go save a cat from a burning building. “Of course.”

Chapel—the real Chapel—ran in, along with a couple of other nurses. One of them pressed the button and Sam felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy.

Sleep came swiftly, but she thought she felt Chekov squeeze her hand just before she went under.

* * *

“Do we disturb you?”

The question was asked by Mirror Marcus. Kirk folded his arms and looked at her. She just smiled.

“Why would you think that?” He asked.

“Captain,” Spock interceded, “Until we can contact their captain I suggest that we do not engage—”

“Because of your faces when you first saw us.” Marcus’s smile grew. “You should have seen the little girl. She was terrified.”

“Stop teasing him,” Mirror Uhura instructed. It was the first time she had spoken. Mirror Marcus stopped smiling immediately and turned away.

“How did you create the wormhole?” Kirk demanded.

None of them answered him.

He strode up to the glass. “Listen. I get that you think that our lives our worthless. But the thing is, your lives are also worthless. You have no idea what you’ve done in coming here, in coming to that other universe. And I’ve got no problem ejecting all of you out of the airlock. So if you want to live, you better start talking, because I’ve got several dead crewmembers that I’m just itching to avenge.”

Uhura started laughing then, a cold, heartless thing that seemed to bounce off the walls and echo. She stood in one fluid motion, her dark eyes glinting. “You speak of vengeance?” She purred. “You speak of our ignorance in knowing what we’ve done?” She laughed again, and Kirk had to hold back a shudder at the sound. “Haven’t you realized that we don’t care? You have no idea what vengeance is. You think that you would go to the ends of the earth for your crew but have you actually done it? You’re weak. You’re stuck behind your precious idealism, your so-called compassion and mercy. Those lines hold you back and keep you from truly acting on your convictions. We are not so limited. We don’t _care_ what we’ve done, and we don’t care what we will have to do.”

She stepped a little closer to the glass, and Kirk could have sworn he saw genuine hurt in her eyes. “We lost everything when we lost you. Our plans, our leader, our conviction. You were our cornerstone. Even our current captain is but a shell of himself. You are our captain, and none else. And we will have you again, no matter what it takes.”

Kirk didn’t hear him walk up, but in the span of time between Uhura’s last word and Kirk’s inhale of breath to respond, Spock was there. His face was only an inch from the glass, and he stared Uhura down as if she were an insolent diplomat. Cold fury seemed to radiate from the Vulcan's body and Kirk could only think that he was grateful that fury wasn't directed at him.

“You will not have him,” Spock replied. “Because he is not yours to have. You had your captain. We have ours, and we will not allow you to take him. You think that you are the only ones who would stoop to such levels in order to obtain what you wish?”

“The question,” Mirror Sulu said, pausing in his pacing, “Is an interesting one.”

They all looked at him. He shrugged, his lip curling up like he was about to sneer. “Who fights more viciously? The person with nothing to lose, or the person with everything to lose?”

Mirror Sulu wasn’t looking at Kirk, though—he was looking at Spock. Kirk looked too, and saw that the tips of Spock’s ears were just the faintest shade of green. Funny, he hadn’t seen Spock’s ears turn green since the time he’d insulted his mother and nearly gotten strangled to death because of it.

The doors opened and an irate tirade burst in, followed by the man who was making that tirade.

“Goes and severs an artery, almost bleeds out by the time we get her to Sickbay, and now she’s got that Russian kid hankering after her like some kind of homeless puppy. Kirks are all damn alike no matter what the universe is—” McCoy stopped in his tracks as if someone had hit him with a stun ray.

Mirror Marcus wiggled her fingers at him. “Well then,” she said. “Isn’t this interesting.”

McCoy stared at her, then switched to a glare and resumed marching over to Kirk. “Got you a status report on the ensign, like you asked.”

“And?”

McCoy let out a heavy breath. “It’s—it’s a close call, Jim. We’re going to keep an eye on it but she might lose the leg. She wrenched it out of the hip socket again when that other Rand went flying into us, and she shattered the knee when she had to defend herself against Chapel—excuse me?”

McCoy was looking over at Mirror Marcus, who was leaning against the glass. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she replied. “Just listening in. Tell me, do you like the sight of blood as much as our Bones?”

McCoy looked like he was restraining himself from hitting something. At the same time, however, it seemed as though he couldn’t stop himself from looking at her.

“I see you have the same hands,” Mirror Marcus went on. “Surgeon’s hands. It’s amazing how he can take people apart, you know. Taught me a lot. I believe that was our first date night, learning how to properly use electricity as a torture device.” Her tone suggested nothing but pure glee. Off of McCoy’s face, she laughed. “Oh, my dear doctor. If you think _I’m_ bad, just you wait until you look into your own mirror.”

* * *

Scotty, Uhura, Marcus and Sulu all sat at the same table in the mess hall. None of them spoke. They ate languidly, without really tasting the food.

They watched as McCoy entered the mess and saw them all sitting at the table. His eyes latched onto Marcus for a moment, and then he quickly walked over to the replicator and took his food to go.

The moment he’d left the mess hall, Marcus gave into her trembling lip and buried her face in her arms. Uhura patted her back, making soothing noises in her throat as she pushed her food back and forth on her plate. She had been moving it around like that after just three bites.

Across the table from her, Sulu gave up eating and just pushed his bowl to the side.

Scotty figured he might as well break out the alcohol. They could all use a shot.

* * *

Chekov started awake as someone approached Sam’s biobed. He’d held her hand all through the surgery, even after the drugs had sent her under. Dr. McCoy had said it would be best if she just slept it off, and so Chekov had tried hard not to wake her. In fact, he’d tried so hard that he’d ended up falling asleep himself.

He looked up and saw his captain peering down at him. He blushed. “Uh, hello.”

“Hey.” Kirk’s eyes drifted over to the sleeping girl. “Were you there the whole time?”

“It only seemed fair,” Chekov replied. “She really wanted you there, I think, but I figured, I am good substitute in the meantime.”

Kirk nodded, distracted by the sight of Sam’s leg in a brand-new cast. “Did Bones tell you the verdict?”

Chekov nodded, unable to keep the frown off his face. “He said that we will have to see how the leg responds to surgery. If it recovers, then good. If not… But it will take days to know for certain.”

Kirk put a hand on his shoulder, still staring at the girl. “You’re relieved, Chekov. Go get some rest.”

Chekov stood up, figuring that his captain would walk out with him. Instead, Kirk took his place in the chair and picked up Sam’s hand.

Chekov left him like that, staring at the sleeping girl, which was how McCoy would find him four hours later.

* * *

Four hours later was when the prisoners escaped.

 


	8. Chapter 8

After their depressing and silent dinner, Uhura walked Carol back to her quarters. She hadn’t said anything, merely standing up when the other woman did and falling into step beside her.

“You don’t need to walk me,” Carol said.

“I know.”

Carol’s first couple of months aboard the _Enterprise_ had been rough. Some of the crew thought she hadn’t earned her place there. Others resented her father’s actions and took it out on her. A few took a look at her face and decided she’d somehow used her looks or connections to get the job instead of relying on actual brains. Fortunately, Christine Chapel was Carol’s best friend from the Academy, and through Christine, Carol had met Uhura and Gaila. Gaila made friends like birds flew—freely and seemingly without conscious effort. Uhura had liked Carol immediately and, even if she hadn’t, she’d known the woman didn’t deserve the resentment that was being flung at her. Between the three of them, they’d helped Carol to feel more comfortable on the ship.

In all of that time together, Uhura had come to read Carol’s little tells. Right now the woman was walking with a little extra sway in her step and her toes were pointed outward, her lips pressed tightly together. Unlike some people, like Christine, who when they were hurt curled inwards and tried to make themselves small, Carol made herself seem even more imperious and sexual, as though she were daring anyone to question her strength and control.

Uhura glanced around to double check that the corridor was empty. “Did Leonard say something?”

Carol made a sound that might have been a snort if it hadn’t gotten stuck halfway up her throat. “That would mean he was talking to me. Or the captain, or Spock.”

She stopped suddenly, turning to face Uhura. “What must she be like?” She asked. Her eyes were shining just a little too brightly. Uhura had never seen Carol cry. It was the one thing Carol hated—showing a crack in her carefully constructed façade. “What kind of monster is that woman that my commanding officers and my—one of my closest friends won’t speak to me?”

“First of all, I’m sure it has nothing to do with that,” Uhura replied. “And second of all, if that were the reason, they’re all cowards and I’m staging a coup.”

When Carol didn’t laugh, Uhura placed her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “Carol, I know it has nothing to do with you. Kirk is down in Sickbay with Sam, and Spock—” Uhura cut herself off. It wouldn’t be fair to tell people, even someone like Carol, about Spock’s ‘emotional issue.’ His words, not hers. “Trust me when I say Spock’s avoiding everyone right now. And I think Kirk is too, in his own way.”

“And Leonard?” Carol’s lips pressed together again and pursed a little, like she wanted to give a sardonic smile but her mouth wanted to sob and so an almost-pout was the best compromise she could manage.

“He doesn’t think you’re a monster either,” Uhura said, keeping her tone even.

Carol glanced away. “Do you wonder what she’s like? Your other?”

Uhura let her hand drop. “A bit. I don’t think they’re purely evil. That would be too simple. I think that they’re still us—our personalities, our character traits—just twisted. Like their loyalty to the captain; it’s the same as our loyalty, but it’s gone too far.”

Carol seemed to think about that. “A part of me wants to see her,” she admitted. “I’d like to talk to her, just to see what she’s like. Just so that I can know.”

Uhura started to shake her head, but Carol saw the movement and hastened to stop her. “I know that it’s wrong and I’m certainly not going to act on it. That would be inviting disaster. But you can’t deny that you’re a little bit curious.”

Uhura opened her mouth to refute that statement—and then closed it.

There were certain traits by which Nyota Uhura had defined her life. There was her stubbornness and her competitiveness, both of which had made her mother cluck her tongue at her when she was a child.

There was her adoration of languages. They were beauty to her, they were a culture and a history all in one, and they painted pictures for her, landscapes of a race or species. She’d once heard someone talking about how he could see sounds in his mind as color—a landscape of color. It was the closest anyone had come to describing how she felt when she was learning a new language.

There was her calm demeanor. Nobody would catch her off-guard or fluster her. She was always ready with a cool retort and prepared to take command of a situation. Her argument with Spock with Kirk present as they beamed down into Klingon space was a rare lapse.

And, of course, there was her prized mysteriousness. Few people knew her first name, for example, and everyone called her Uhura. Only Spock ever called her Nyota, and it was in moments when he was feeling extremely vulnerable—not that he’d ever admit it—or extremely intimate. Even Gaila called her by her last name. But there were other things, too, like where her parents lived and if she had siblings or when her birthday was. It was more than simple privacy, although she craved that. Privacy was hard to come by in a small, confined community like a starship. No, it was that air of mystery. It was the guessing and questioning from others, the quizzical looks and the second glances. Nobody knew everything, and so nobody could pin her down.

These were the traits by which she ordered her life. They were the pillars of her personality. How had these things been twisted in that—that other version of herself?

Uhura gave herself a mental shake. Perhaps curiosity was something Carol was willing to indulge in, but she certainly wasn’t. What did it matter to her how some other version of Nyota Uhura had turned out? She had turned out the way she wanted to, and she was happy with who she was.

“Carol…” Uhura resumed their walk back to the other woman’s room. “A thousand factors could contribute to another version of you, a version that’s more impatient or more thoughtful or has a different sense of humor. But it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t take away from who _you_ are.”

“Doesn’t it?” Carol replied. “If it causes others to think of me differently, or to wonder about me—”

“They won’t.”

“My father’s actions dictated how half of the ship thought about me,” Carol said, her tone unusually fierce. Carol tended to run cold, so to speak, when it came to her emotions. She grew calmer and sharper in her tone and body language when she was upset. Rarely did she become heated or sound out of control. “It took them months to welcome me for who I was, not as a stand-in for all their hatred of my father. Everyone loves you, Uhura. Everyone. You’re terrifying and sexy and always right somehow and—honestly, a third of the people on this ship want to date you and another third would want to if they weren’t so scared of you, in a good way. You don’t—” Carol bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. “You don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it?” Uhura arched an eyebrow (a habit she’d picked up from Spock, unfortunately), and held up her hand. “Carol, you’ve seen the color of my skin.”

Carol flushed. “People don’t still care about that, do they?”

“Not most people, but some. There are still those that are raised to fear or distrust anything that’s different, or to believe in clichés and stereotypes.”

Carol didn’t say anything, which Uhura appreciated. She knew that her friend supported her and didn’t agree with any of those viewpoints. She didn’t need to hear more useless platitudes.

“It’s why I resolved to never lose my temper,” Uhura went on. She wouldn’t normally have shared such an insight, but she felt like Carol needed to hear it. Besides, she—she trusted Carol. Carol was her friend. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t let anyone see how much they got under my skin. I’d just smile and laugh and keep my cool.”

“Explains why you didn’t deck Kirk when you first met him,” Carol replied with a hint of a smirk. It was now common knowledge how Kirk got into Starfleet, which meant that it was common knowledge that he’d tried to pick Uhura up in a bar in Iowa—and had failed spectacularly.

Uhura laughed. The whole ‘farm animals’ thing had become a running joke between herself and the captain. Last Winter Bash (what Kirk had designated the epic mishmash of various December-centered religious holidays that the crew celebrated) she’d drawn his name in the secret gift exchange and had given him a blow-up pig. “Pretty much. Don’t ever show them your belly, my father would say.”

“Always wear lipstick,” Carol replied. “That’s what my mother would say. She put on her makeup like she was going to war.” She paused. “I think maybe she was.”

“We are at war,” Uhura acknowledged. It was a little sad, to think that they still had a ways to go. “But at least now we know that we’re winning.”

Maybe, someday, they wouldn’t have to be at war at all.

“My point,” Uhura went on, steering them back to the original topic, “Is that this isn’t you. She’s not you. That would be like saying you and your identical twin are the same person. You may share the same DNA and you may look and sound the same, but you’re different people—and anyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot. You don’t know what she’s gone through to become who she is, and she doesn’t know anything about you. You aren’t her and you won’t become her. I know that you won’t.”

Carol looked down at her perfectly manicured nails. Uhura knew it must take extra work to keep them looking that way, since Carol spent most of her time elbows-deep in one contraption or another, tinkering about. “I’m a weapons expert,” she said softly. “And I know she is too.”

“You don’t know—”

“I do know. That other Spock, he said they were our mirrors.” Two spots of light pink bloomed high up on Carol’s cheeks. “That means that she’s—she’s wrong, maybe even evil, but she’s still like me. She’s a weapons expert. And I dread… I wake up from nightmares where we find something or someone and the captain makes me use that expertise. Or—or even worse, I have to use it, to save someone I love, and I want to use it so I do and I’m a killer and I feel no regrets. And I would—I would bet my life that’s what she does. That she is a killer. And it terrifies me because I know that it wouldn’t take all that much to make me one as well.”

“You know the captain would never make you use your skills like that.”

“I know he would never want to, but you’ve seen what we’ve stumbled up against. Someday there’s going to come a time where he has no choice. And he’ll give me the order because he’s the captain and he feels that means everything has to be his responsibility. He’ll say he gave the order, so the lives are on his hands, but following orders is a choice as well. I have free will. It doesn’t matter what my superior officer says, I’m still the one that pushes the button and that means some of the blood gets on my hands.”

Uhura grabbed Carol by both shoulders and spun her around. “Look at me.”

Carol looked, a little bit frightened, and it took everything within Uhura not to laugh at the expression on her face. “You will not be ordered to use your skills that way, because that means we’re stuck in a no-win scenario, and you know as well as I do how much the captain hates those. He doesn’t believe in them. He will hold off, he will find another way. And if he doesn’t, you can say no. And I believe that you will say no. You have free will, you said it yourself. The very fact that you’re so terrified of becoming a killer is what will stop you.”

“But aren’t you afraid?” Carol whispered. “That somewhere inside of you is _her_?”

Uhura gentled her grip on Carol’s shoulders, shaking her head. “No. Because she only exists inside of me if I let her, and I won’t do that.”

Displays of affection were usually more Gaila or Christine’s territory, but given the circumstances, Uhura didn’t feel strange pulling Carol in for a hug.

* * *

Vulcans did not have likes or dislikes. Such a thing suggested an illogical and inexplicable attachment or revulsion towards a person or thing, and Vulcans were not illogical. If one claimed that they liked or disliked a piece of artwork, a little more articulation and a proper understanding would soon reveal that the supposed emotional response was actually based upon societal factors such as conventions of aesthetics and accepted forms of morality.

Therefore, Spock did not dislike that Dr. McCoy was accompanying him to check on the prisoners. He had an understandable reluctance to include the doctor based upon McCoy’s response to the Mirror Dr. Marcus.

Spock mentally berated himself for using the captain’s nickname for their alternate counterparts. Humans did have a strange fascination with mirrors. Jacques Lacan had a fascinating treatise on the subject.

The fact was that Dr. McCoy, for reasons Spock could not ascertain, seemed to be angered and unsettled by this version of Dr. Marcus. Spock had suggested that Dr. M’Benga accompany him instead, but Dr. McCoy had refuted this argument, stating that the alternate version of Dr. Marcus had attempted to kill Dr. M’Benga once already and that placing them in the same vicinity would potentially place Dr. M’Benga in danger.

The argument was logical, and so Spock had acquiesced and allowed Dr. McCoy to accompany him.

It was imperative that they either destroy this alternate crew or convince them to return to their own universe. Spock did not think that the second option was likely, and he ignored the part of him that rejoiced at the idea of destroying these interlopers. The captain was in danger for as long as a single one of these alternate characters roamed this universe. Spock would not—could not—allow that to happen.

However, a part of him could not help but feel a strange kind of sympathy for his alternate self. _Bondmate_ , the other Spock had stated. It meant a complete joining of the minds. Spock had never experienced such a thing himself, but he could well imagine how painful it must be. His father had been bonded to his mother, as was only proper, and after her death he had never vocalized his pain beyond that one brief exchange where he admitted he had married her because he loved her, yet Spock had been unable to help noticing his father’s suddenly stooped back, the deepening of the lines on his face, and the faraway, almost pained look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching him. Vulcans were experts at hiding emotion, but Spock had grown up with the man. He flattered himself to think that he could tell when his father was upset—especially since he had spent much of his time upset at Spock.

He had no doubt that Jim would be an excellent bondmate. Most human minds were especially rich, with their emotions unchecked and varied, but Jim’s mind was particularly vibrant. As he’d watched his captain die, the most illogical observation had struck him that he had never, and would never, meld with Jim; that, indeed, he was unable to meld with him as he died. He had wanted to give Jim a sense of not being alone, a sense of peace. It had seemed to greatly aid Admiral Pike in his final moments, despite the fear that had permeated the man’s mind.

Despite the lack of actively melding with Jim, however, that did not mean that Spock had never glimpsed the mind of his captain. Jim was a very tactile person and Vulcans were touch telepaths. It was inevitable that he grasp fragments of Jim’s thoughts and emotions when the captain was so determined to touch him.

Not that—that is to say, it was not as if such touches were… unwelcome, distracting though they were.

To lose such a rich and vibrant mind, to have it ripped away from one after many years of indulging in it—to suddenly be alone in one’s mind after having a constant companion—it was a thought that made something in Spock’s stomach curl and twist, like a plume of smoke on the wind. Yes, he could sympathize with his counterpart’s determination to have that connection back in any form.

That did not mean he intended to give his captain up.

An even deeper part of him, one that he rarely liked—that is, one that was rarely logical—to pay attention to, was filled with hope. If this alternate Jim had agreed to bond with this alternate Spock, if he had welcomed such a relationship and all that was associated with it, perhaps that meant—

No. It was illogical to dwell upon such things, just as it always had been and always would be. It was not that Jim was averse to… the physical aspect of relationships. He had identified himself as “willing to try anything once” and while he strictly avoided sexual relations with crewmembers—a decision that Spock agreed was both professional and respectful—he had “entertained” many species and genders to the point where Dr. McCoy had once noted that the world had not yet come up with a word for whatever sexual orientation Jim Kirk was.

It was the emotional aspect. Spock had never seen Jim to have a romantic relationship, only physical ones. And it was the cultural aspect. Spock was a Vulcan, and he knew full well from Uhura and from his mother how difficult it could be for a human to be with a Vulcan. Not to mention the Pon Farr, and the mental bonding, and all the rest that a Vulcan mate would be equipped to deal with but a human mate might not. Spock had seen how wane and exhausted his mother had been every seven years, resting in bed while his father returned to daily business. And his mother had been unable to lie to his father. Surely that would pose an issue for someone with as many personal secrets as Jim Kirk.

It was… ironic. Spock disliked the word, but ‘illogical’ did not seem to quite do the situation justice. It had been ironic that his entire life he had been deemed an embarrassment to his community, one that did well “despite his disadvantages” and was resented or ignored while he broke every record, excelled beyond the expectations of even full-blooded Vulcans—and then, only when he had failed to save his mother and his planet, did he receive praise from his community.

It was ironic that the one individual who wished to bond with, the one for whom he would have suffered any number of indignities and trials, was the one person he was certain was beyond his reach.

“You’re rather quiet,” Dr. McCoy noted.

Spock turned away from his inward thoughts and focused on the world around him. “Forgive me if I am wrong, but am I not usually quiet?”

“Yeah, but this is a different quiet,” Dr. McCoy replied. “Normally you’re just an ‘I’m listening to everything’ quiet. Right now it’s a thinking quiet. Something on your mind? You’re not thinking of growing a goatee, are you?”

Spock restrained his lips from quirking upwards into a smirk. “I assure you, doctor, that I have no intentions of growing any facial hair.”

“Good, because that thing just looks ridiculous.” Dr. McCoy squinted at him. “You sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

Despite the nearly constant insults thrown at his head, Spock was aware that Dr. McCoy had come to view him as somewhat of a friend. Insults were merely the doctor’s way of expressing affection, such as when he remarked on Ensign Chekov’s age or informed Jim of how stupid he felt the captain was being. Illogical as it was, it warmed Spock to know that he had won the grudging affection of someone such as Dr. McCoy.

“Your concern is appreciated,” he replied, “But I—”

He stopped dead in his tracks, the rest of the sentence lying cold and heavy on his tongue.

A dead member of security was sprawled on the floor, his throat slashed open and his eyes gouged out.

The cell was empty.

* * *

Kirk jerked out of his reverie as Bones ran into Sickbay. “She’s still asleep,” he said in a low voice.

“We don’t have time for that,” Bones snapped. “You need to get to the brig, now.”

Kirk released Sam’s hand and stood. “Why, what’s happened?”

McCoy huffed and glared at him like this was all somehow his fault. Which, if you thought about it a certain way, it was. He was the one that they were after. “Those bastards escaped.”

* * *

Kirk examined the cell. “I’m not seeing any way they could have gotten out. The entire thing is completely intact. No sign of drilling or tampering with the lock—”

“Perhaps they teleported out?” Scotty offered.

Spock tilted his head. “That is a logical conclusion, Mr. Scott.”

Bones folded his arms. “I don’t like it.”

“None of us like it, Bones,” Kirk replied, double-checking that nothing had been messed with inside of the cell. Technically Bones shouldn’t even be there, but Kirk gave up on that sort of thing long ago. Wherever he was, Bones would inevitably be there too, bitching about something. It was just his friend’s way of keeping an eye on him. Bones seemed convinced that the moment he took his eyes off Kirk he was going to fling himself in front of a Klingon warbird or something.

“Captain, if they did indeed teleport out of their cell, this suggests that their teleporting technology is far superior to ours.”

“Y’ got tha’ right,” Scotty said, punching something into his PADD. “Our shields are up an’ we should be blockin’ their signals. They’d have to have enough power to override us.”

“If they have enough power to create a wormhole and enter an alternate dimension, I’d say they have enough power to override our shields and beam their crew five feet to the right,” Kirk replied. He exited the cell. “All right. We’ve got no time to lose. I want everyone on red alert, and tell them to set their phasers to kill.”

“Kill, sir?” Spock asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kirk held up a hand. “I know, it’s against regulation and probably inhumane but we can’t take any chances. They’re going to kill, and they’re going to do it as viciously as they can. I have to protect my crew—or at least give them permission to protect themselves.”

Spock inclined his head. “I was only going to remark that you have my full support in this decision, Captain.”

“Oh.” Kirk blinked. Spock was looking at him very intensely—not that this was out of the ordinary, Spock always looked at him intensely—it was just that he felt very aware of how dark Spock’s eyes were and how he was receiving 100% of the guy’s attention.

It was, uh, making him a little hot under the collar.

“I don’t suppose running away is an option,” Bones asked.

Scotty muttered something unintelligible. “I’m going to beat those bastards,” he said in a louder voice. “Just you wait, Captain. I’ll bet y’ anything that it’s me over there who’s leading us on this merry chase, and if I can’t outwit myself, then, what use am I?”

Kirk waved his hand at him. “Do whatever you feel is necessary.”

Scotty gave a slightly manic grin. “Oh, trust me sir, this will all be _very_ necessary.”

“And probably have a twisted sense of humor,” Bones muttered as Scotty all but skipped out of the room. He pointed in the direction of the Chief Engineer’s retreating back. “Should we be concerned about him?”

“Nah,” Kirk replied, pulling out his phaser and flicking it to the kill setting. “If I bothered worrying about what Scotty was up to my blood pressure would be ridiculous.”

* * *

Carol examined herself in the mirror. She had the urge to smash it, somehow, or maybe cover it up and never look at it again. She’d taken a short nap, which had helped somewhat, but she’d spent more time tossing and turning than actually sleeping. Now she was reapplying her makeup in the mirror. For some reason it felt imperative that not a single hair or eyelash be out of place.

Like putting on armor, her mother had said. Never had that felt more accurate.

She honestly wasn’t sure which alternate self upset her more: the twisted one sitting in the brig, or the pregnant one currently giving birth a child somewhere in Sam’s universe.

In Sam’s world, she was—because Leonard—not that she wanted to go and get pregnant right that moment, she was on a starship, it wouldn’t be wise. But it didn’t change the fact that in some universe, her feelings had been reciprocated. In some universe, their relationship had progressed to the point of marriage. It made her stomach clench. Not in a sick way, like when she thought of her counterpart downstairs in the brig, but in a sad, of-course-you-can’t-possibly-have-that sort of way. It hurt to know that another version of herself had somehow obtained what seemed impossible for her.

Maybe Leonard was different in that universe? Maybe he hadn’t met and married Jocelyn, which meant he’d never gotten the divorce and become bitter and scared of getting hurt again (he was scared, no matter what else he said to the contrary, he’d gotten good and proper drunk once on his former anniversary and slurred out the confession to her in a soft drawl, his hand gripping the glass so tightly she thought he’d smash it to bits), so he’d had the courage to consider her as more than a friend. Maybe he didn’t have Joanna, so he wasn’t afraid of what taking another woman into his life would do to his daughter.

The more logical answer, however, was that there was simply something different about her. Something about her in Sam’s world was enough to make Leonard want her romantically, and in this world, she was lacking that. It was simple, and it hurt, but it was the truth.

Carol uncapped the tube of lipstick and applied it with two careful swipes. The application probably looked casual to an onlooker, but it only appeared so after years of precise practice in getting the lipstick to line her lips in just the right way.

There. Her armor was in place, and nobody had to know the wounds that were bleeding underneath.

The buzzer that usually signaled someone at her door began sounding off, high-pitched and insistent: red alert.

Carol cursed and grabbed her boots, yanking them on and just remembering to clip on her phaser before she rushed out the door.

Out in the corridor, people were rushing madly. Well, not madly, that would do a disservice to the well-trained _Enterprise_ crew, but there was a definite sense of urgency and purpose to everyone’s movements as they all but ran about the ship.

“Attention,” Kirk’s voice came over the speakers. “Attention. We are on Red Alert. The prisoners have escaped, repeat, the prisoners have escaped. They are dressed like Starfleet personnel, everyone is on Red Alert. Permission is granted to set phasers to kill.”

Her captain continued on, listing the physical differences between the Mirror Crew and the actual crew so that nobody shot the wrong person by accident, but Carol wasn’t listening anymore.

Down the hall she could hear screaming.

She pulled out her phaser and set it to kill.

She rounded the corner, phaser at the ready—only to have it kicked out of her hands.

She ducked the oncoming punch and jabbed at her opponent’s stomach, straightening to deliver a swinging heel-kick to the head. Her opponent seemed to see this coming, however, and grabbed her by the ankle, using her momentum to send her flying into the opposite wall.

It was only as she slammed against the floor that she saw whom she was fighting.

Herself.

The other Carol stared down at her, her lips twisted upwards into a malicious smile. Her eyes gleamed. Carol noticed that her counterpart wore slightly different makeup, the eyeliner liquid and winged, with blue mascara and lipstick that was a few shades darker than the pale, barely there pink that Carol favored.

“How unexpected,” Mirror Carol said. “And lovely.”

Carol leapt to her feet with a snarl and launched herself at her counterpart.

There is a theory in psychoanalysis that there exists, mentally, two versions of an individual. There is the Self and there is the Other. Freud assigned certain traits to the Other, such as darkness compared to the Self’s light, and female as opposed to the Self’s male.

Ignoring Freud’s misogyny for a moment, a part of the Self/Other theory is the idea that they are at war with one another. The Self is afraid of the Other. It is afraid because the Other could take control, but it is mostly afraid because it knows the Other is also a part of itself and is therefore to a certain extent inescapable, just as the Superego despises the Id partly because it knows the Id is a part of itself and therefore will always be there. And so there will come a time, if the Self is placed under enough stress, where this inner conflict will come to a head.

And the Self must kill the Other.

* * *

Sulu knew what the Red Alert was for the moment that it started going off. The prisoners had escaped—that had to be it. If there was any sign of attack from the _I.S.S. Enterprise_ or Mirror Spock was contacting them, he’d have known about it already. With Scotty busy in engineering, Kirk a target and Spock possibly compromised, Sulu would be next in line to take over the bridge. The captain would want him there in case the worst happened.

It didn’t help to remember that in Sam’s universe, the worst had happened. Everyone ahead of him in command had died, and he’d been left as Acting Captain. It was a position that he had very briefly filled in the past, but only for about five minutes or so, and it was usually because both the captain and Spock had insisted on being at Ground Zero for whatever disaster they were dealing with and Scotty was, as usual, tinkering with something or trying desperately to save the ship. It was never a position he’d had to hold for an extended length of time.

In Sam’s universe, he’d been prepared to go down with the ship, as a captain should. It wasn’t exactly in the Starfleet regs that a captain should do so, and if you asked the admirals, they’d all say that life was precious and they wanted everyone possible saved and so on and so forth. But it was still a highly practiced tradition within the fleet. Sulu’s personal theory was that a lot of captains got attached to their ship, and they didn’t want to abandon her. If he’d stayed behind, however, it would be for honor. The captain was in charge, and it was the captain’s duty to keep the ship flying. If he failed, then it was only honorable that he went down with his vessel.

Sam had taken that choice away from his other self. She had decided, probably rightly, that she wouldn’t be the captain that the surviving members of the crew needed. She’d tricked his other self and sent him off on an escape shuttle with Uhura, leaving herself behind to die with the _Enterprise_.

It was funny, how tradition worked. Sulu’s family was very traditional in many aspects, despite his being born and raised in the United States. Sam didn’t have to die on the ship. She could have sealed the shuttle and launched it while she was inside, saving herself and Sulu. Yet she had chosen to stay behind. She’d chosen to die, so that someone would be officially going down with the ship.

Sulu shook himself out of his reverie and double-checked that he’d cleaned his sword. He had a feeling that he was going to need it.

He hurried out of the botany lab and down the hall, heading for the bridge. The bridge was most likely where the captain would be, which meant it was most likely where the escaped prisoners would be headed. At least their announced target made them somewhat predictable.

The botany lab was right next to the greenhouse, down on one of the lowest floors of the ship, so it took him a while to get up to the bridge. However the brig where the prisoners were stowed was also on one of the lowest levels of the ship, so Sulu got there at the same moment as his counterpart.

They both reached for the door at the same time, freezing as they saw themselves, almost an exact reflection of one another, arms extended to pump for more energy as they ran, sword at their hip. They even seemed to have the same expression on their faces.

There was a moment of almost hilarious absurdity as they stared at one another, taken aback by the fact that they really were almost exactly alike, and Sulu had time to think that Jim had been right to call their counterparts the Mirror Crew because this was just ridiculous, and wasn’t there a film or something where a girl discovered she had a twin she never knew about—

Then they both seemed to realize (again, at the same moment) that the other version of themselves was not a long-lost twin or some other kooky comedy trope but an enemy, and they brought their swords up in a swinging arc.

 _Clang_. The clash of the metal blades combining was enough to turn heads. Sulu sank into his battle stance, adjusting his weight to accommodate his opponent’s strength and height. It was not simply a matter of standing ground against an opponent; it was a matter of moving with them, like a dance. Standing still and not budging wouldn’t get him anywhere.

As if by mutual agreement, the two men each passed back. Sulu raised his blade in the customary salute and inclined his head as he swept it down. “I salute you.”

His counterpart did the same. “I salute you.”

There were no jabs, no cutting remarks. This was a matter of honor and skill, and it should be treated with the respect it deserved. Sulu had been training almost all of his life, ever since his mother—who had studied herself when she was young—decided to find a way to channel her son’s restless energy. He had always longed for an opponent that would truly match him.

Now it looked like he would get his wish.

They circled one another, passing to the side, eyes flicking up and down as they took in the other’s battle stance and potential weaknesses.

“I see that you chose the sabre form,” Sulu noted.

“Yes. It was what Mother studied. I felt the more aggressive nature was appropriate.” The other Sulu eyed him critically, but without condemnation. “I see that you chose foil.”

“It was what my mother studied,” Sulu replied. “And the emphasis on wrist movement and the more controlled target area required a discipline that helped channel my energy.”

The other Sulu nodded briskly, as if he could understand that choice. The nod almost, but not quite, masked the shifting of his weight to his back foot so that he could use it to launch himself forward with a yell, sword swinging at Sulu’s head. Fortunately, Sulu had been watching for such a movement and countered, parrying the blow and ducking beneath in order to swipe at his opponent’s now unguarded side.

Sulu’s fencing master had once told him that fencing was the physical form of chess. “It is more than bashing, Hikaru,” he’d said, his Ukranian accent strong. “You have to know what your opponent is going to do, and what you can do to prevent or counter it, and then what they will do because of your prevention or counter—you must weigh all your options. You must think several steps ahead.”

As his counterattack was parried and he had to jump back to avoid getting sliced across the stomach, Sulu wondered what his fencing master would think if he knew that Sulu would one day be trying to outwit himself.

How long they fought, he couldn’t say. Parry, reposte, attack, counterattack, quase, lunge, retreat, advance, fleche, parry, lunge… it was all a blur, but at the same time, Sulu couldn’t remember when his mind had been more clear. Everything in him was focused on this one task: winning the match.

He passed forward, twisting as his opponent did the same, trading places. The area was narrow, but so was a fencing strip, and the foot movements were small. Now if he could just—there! An opening!

Mirror Sulu kept favoring the unscarred side of his body. It was very slight, almost unnoticeable, and Sulu doubted that his other even realized that he was doing it. It must have been subconscious, the body’s way of reacting to a time when a match had gone wrong and he’d received the scar. His body was instinctively seeking to protect itself from that pain, so it held that side of the body out of reach of a blade. That meant if he just were to feint to one side…

He twisted his blade, faking a step forward and then rearing back instead, catching his opponent’s sword right at the hilt, circling his wrist. Mirror Sulu, with his favoring of his one side, was off-balance and unable to counter in time, and the blade went flying.

Sulu flicked his sword downward and ran his opponent through.

* * *

Carol smashed her fist into her counterpart’s jaw, feeling vicious glee at the feel of it giving way beneath her knuckles—even if her hand was probably broken in a few places at this point from all the punching.

She recognized her other’s shift in stance and kicked out before the her counterpart could move, but Mirror Carol apparently recognized this and blocked, diverting the kick away from her and using the opportunity to jab at Carol’s throat. Carol reeled back, nearly losing her balance, and grabbed her opponent’s wrist, twisting it and bringing the side of her hand down hard on the other Carol’s elbow. She could feel the bone breaking.

Mirror Carol suddenly twisted, hoisting Carol briefly up onto her back. Carol reached for a balance—and the other Carol flipped her neatly over her head so that she landed on her back, facing upwards, her one arm still caught in the other’s grip.

“I thought you might be too weak to put up a fight,” Mirror Carol said. “Turns out I was wrong. We can be rather vicious, can’t we?”

She forced Carol’s wrist to bend backwards and Carol cried out as she felt it start to give way. A little farther and her wrist would be broken for sure.

“But, in the end, one of us just had the edge.” Mirror Carol shrugged nonchalantly, the same graceful movement that Carol had seen her mother do during society parties. “ _C’est la vie_.”

Carol brought up the phaser she’d grabbed off of her Other’s waist while she was being hoisted up.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

She fired.

* * *

The moment seemed to stretch into an eternity. He could feel Mirror Sulu’s chest expanding as he continued to inhale, as if part of his body hadn’t realized that he was dying. He saw fear flicker in his opponent’s eyes, made all the more terrible by the look of surprise, one that suggested this other Sulu had not known fear often, if at all. He could sense the warmth in the other man’s body, see the bead of sweat working down from his temple, the flare of his nostrils, and the flutter of his pulse in his neck.

Then Mirror Sulu exhaled, the breath coming out in a _whoosh_ like a deflated balloon, and he slumped downward. His eyes rolled back into his head, the fear and surprise and everything else in them gone, and his pulse stuttered once and then went still.

Sulu stared down at his other self, and then at the blade in his hand. It was bloody.

He’d never killed anyone with his sword before. He’d injured people a couple of times—he could remember one very memorable mission that had involved taking off his shirt and a few other lapses in judgment—but he’d never killed anyone. He’d practiced it as a sport, an art form, as much a discipline as any martial art. Yet now…

He stared at the blood on his sword and wondered if he ever wanted to hold it again.

* * *

McCoy ran through the ship, the Red Alert still blaring. _Damn_ it. Those bastards were loose on the ship now—including that one, twisted—

Carol wasn’t like that. To see that—that person, that version of her, so full of malice and mania, it angered him. Carol worked hard to ensure that her legacy would be different from her father’s, that it would be one of peace instead of death and destruction. To see someone who was the personification of all Carol wasn’t, of all she feared that she could be, was infuriating.

He could only imagine how Carol felt about it.

He was running so quickly that he almost tripped over the body, coming to a stop just in time. It was a member of engineering, the poor bastard. Just a few feet to the side was another one. Both had been hit by phasers. Looked like a firefight had gone down and they’d been too surprised to defend themselves in time.

McCoy stepped carefully, closing their eyes as he passed. It was the least he could do for them, not that they needed it now. He saw a third body out of the corner of his eye and turned to look—and his heart caught in his throat.

No.

She was lying slumped on the ground, face downward, her right arm at a funny angle. Her blonde hair, usually so carefully arranged, was now in disarray. She’d have hated that. She liked to look put-together.

McCoy approached slowly, hoping against hope that just maybe, maybe she was faking it. Or maybe she was just injured, not dead. Maybe…

But then he touched the body. It was still warm, but not with the warmth of life. It was the warmth of something left over, something that once was there but had left.

His eyes felt hot as he carefully turned her over. Her eyes were open and her lips were just slightly parted in surprise. She’d put up a good fight, if the smudged and sweated-off state of her makeup was anything to go by.

“Carol,” he whispered, as if saying her name could somehow bring her back. Then again, louder: “Carol!”

He was hardly conscious of what he was doing, hauling her up into his arms so that her face was pressed against his shoulder. He stroked her hair, squeezing his eyes so that as few tears leaked out as possible. It wasn’t like he had the right. She wasn’t his, not really. To her he was just a friend, a colleague, the guy to go to when she wanted that strong whiskey that technically wasn’t allowed on ship.

But to him—she’d been beautiful. She’d been light. She’d laughed at his jokes, humored him but never put up with his shit when he was cranky and taking it out on the people around him. She’d listened to him talk about Joanna and when Jim was busy she was happy to get drunk with him. And she loved her job—loved it. He didn’t understand half of it but he’d loved how her face lit up, how she’d gestured with her hands, smiling all though her chatter. He’d loved how gentle she could be. He’d loved her determination to help others and to make the world a better place. He’d loved how capable she was. He’d loved…

Well, _her_.

“Leonard?”

He looked up and saw her—the other her. Mirror Carol, Jim had called her. She was staring at him with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. She looked so much like his Carol that he wanted to scream.

Instead he found that a growl was working its way out of his throat and he wasn’t all that inclined to stop it. “You killed her.”

“I had to,” Fake Carol replied. She was fake, she was a shadow, she was nothing like—

He stood slowly, reaching for his phaser. Anger was coursing through him, at himself for failing to protect her and this, this abomination for daring to touch her. “You hurt her. A quick blast not good enough for you? You had to make her suffer first?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—” Carol’s eyes caught sight of the phaser in his hand and she screamed, understanding and fear flashing across her face in almost the same instant. “Leonard, wait! Wait it’s me!”

She rushed forward, grabbing his wrist and stopping him from firing the phaser. “It’s me, I swear, I’m so sorry—I switched our uniforms. I thought—I thought perhaps that I could sneak aboard the other ship, pretend to be her, I never thought—it’s me, I promise, it’s really me.” She brought her other hand up, cradling the side of his face, her touch gentle and soothing. “Look at my face.”

He looked. Now that the anger was slowly fading, he could see—the other Carol had been wearing different makeup, darker lipstick and eye shadow and such. There had been something manic in her eyes, and something about her mouth that suggested she was always on the verge of breaking into malicious giggles. He’d felt a rush of shame that he’d spent so much time studying the actual Carol that he’d been able to see all those little differences in the other Carol, but now they helped him to know the truth.

“It’s you,” he croaked. His throat felt very dry.

Carol’s grip on his wrist gentled and she gave a tentative smile. “Yes. It’s me. I’m sorry I—I scared you.”

They were standing very close. He could feel Carol’s warm breath brushing against his face and if he paid close attention, he could feel her pulse where he gripped her wrist—he’d somehow, in the course of her grabbing him, grabbed her back. In fact they were almost holding hands if one of them shifted their grip just slightly…

“Why were you—” Carol looked down at her counterpart on the floor, and then back up at him. “You were holding her.”

He swallowed. “Uh…”

“And stroking her hair.”

McCoy wondered where all the air in the room had gone.

Carol tilted her head at him. “I don’t understand.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed. “Because you’re—you’re—oh what the Hell.”

He pulled her in and kissed her, joy surging up in his chest when he felt Carol’s arms slip around his neck. She tasted like sunlight and when he pulled away, her smile was blinding.

“I never thought…” She blushed and shook her head. “Never mind. Just, come here.”

She slipped a hand into the hair at the back of his head, nails lightly scraping his scalp as she pulled him back in again. McCoy let his hands slide down to wrap around her waist and seriously considered never letting go.

* * *

Uhura tore down the hallway, phaser in hand. “Fan out!” She screamed at anyone she passed. Behind her she could hear the clash of the two swords as Sulu and his counterpart engaged in battle. “They’re going to come for the bridge, fan out!” They had to protect the captain.

She raced through the corridors, her gaze darting with precision to every possible place they could be coming from. Those bastards weren’t going to take their captain—not on her watch.

Kirk might have driven her absolutely nuts for the first few months she’d known him, but after that, she’d started to realize that he didn’t actually want to sleep with her at that point; he was just messing with her. Without her even realizing it a strange sort of relationship had formed between them, a friendship based upon mutual insults and sass and refusing to admit that they actually kind of enjoyed the other’s company.

Since becoming captain, Kirk had toned down on the teasing. Uhura understood that he had to maintain a level of professionalism now, but she’d found that she missed it. Still, in its place, a more honest camaraderie had formed. She could now say without any doubt or reluctance that Kirk was not only her captain but her friend. She wished the best for him, and that included in his romantic endeavors.

It also meant that she wasn’t going to let any evil doppelganger group get their grubby hands on him.

Seeing no sign of their alternate selves, Uhura switched directions and headed for the transporters. More of them could be coming through now, and she had to be there to stop them.

She heard the sound and skidded to a stop, her instincts forcing her body to halt even before her eyes found the source of the noise—the whimper-groan of someone in pain.

Uhura dashed towards the person slumped against the wall, the angle of their legs indicating that they’d fallen down and hadn’t been able to get up again. As she got closer she could see that it was Rand.

“Uhura!” Rand coughed, and Uhura could see that her hand was pressed against her side. “They’re—”

From inside the transporter room came the sound of a scream, one that Uhura recognized well: Gaila.

Her heart climbed up into her throat and, to her shame, she left Rand lying where she was.

When the _Enterprise_ had come out of warp near Vulcan to find the rest of the fleet utterly destroyed by Nero, they’d immediately found themselves under enemy fire. One of the first places hit had been engineering, and it had been the department that had sustained the most deaths and injuries—second place was unfortunately held by the medical team, which had gone down to assist the injured and lost almost half their staff when the next blast hit. There’d been no time to check, not when they were dealing with Nero, but Uhura’s heart had been in her throat the entire time. She’d never fully understood that expression before—but in those moments, she had. It had felt as though there was something large in her throat, stopping her from breathing properly and making it hard to swallow, and she could feel her pulse right next to her vocal chords, beating so loudly she thought that surely someone could hear it.

The moment she’d been free she had dashed down to engineering. She’d had to know—she’d _had to know_.

And there had been Gaila, stuck halfway into the side of the ship, humming to herself as she’d rewired the controls. Uhura remembered her legs feeling strangely weak as Gaila had emerged, giving one of her big grins where her shoulders shot up to her ears, chirping, “Hey! I heard about the promotion, congratulations!”

Gaila had been her first friend at the Academy. She’d driven Uhura nuts with her constant stream of men and women and variations thereupon, her leaving clothes and bras and wrenches and computer parts all over the room, and her constant chatter when Uhura just needed to be alone. But she’d also cheered her up when nobody else could, her playfulness so infectious, and she’d nursed Uhura tenderly when she’d gotten a bad case of the flu, and she’d remembered everything Uhura ever told her, from her birthday to her favorite color to the name of her first crush when she was ten.

Uhura hadn’t known what having a best friend was until she’d met Gaila.

So she’d hugged her bewildered former roommate tight, ignoring Gaila’s confused questions, and promised herself that she would do everything in her power to keep Gaila safe.

Now her friend’s scream was echoing from the transporter room and Uhura wondered if she was about to fail that promise.

She burst into the room, leaping to the side to avoid the blaster fire that she’d known would be coming. If she was in the position of the alternate group, she’d fire first and ask questions later, so she acted accordingly.

It turned out to be a smart assumption as the blasts burst through where she’d been standing moments before. Uhura rolled along the floor, coming up into a crouch, and aimed her phaser at her opponent.

It was herself.

The other Uhura outright glared at her. Uhura was taken aback at the hatred her other self was exuding. She had always been taught, and always practiced, a sense of compassion for others. But this other self seemed to be reveling in the anger she radiated, her face hard and stiff with it.

“Are we ready, Chekov?” Her other self asked.

Uhura’s gaze flicked over to the side and she could see an alternate Chekov hastily working on the transporter. At his feet lay Gaila, her eyes closed.

Uhura’s stomach lurched.

“My phaser is set to kill,” the other Uhura warned her as she stepped up onto the transporter, Chekov at her side. This other Chekov winked at her, something slimy in his movements, and Uhura had to repress an involuntary shudder. “I suggest that you don’t try anything.”

She wanted to run after them—it almost made her blood boil to stay where she was—but she knew that it would only get her killed, and she had to make sure that Gaila was okay.

Uhura watched, quietly seething, as her other self and the alternate Chekov disappeared from the transporter pad.

She realized that it would bring her great pleasure to see her other self die. Not because she felt some form of competition with herself, or that she felt people would start to fear they were alike, but because she could see the hatred in that mirror. She could almost feel it rolling off of her in waves. Nobody who centered themselves around such anger, and inflicted it upon others, should be allowed to live.

The moment the two were completely gone, Uhura dashed over to Gaila. The Orion was lying completely still, her head lolling to the side and her limbs splayed out.

“Gaila?” Uhura reached out to feel for a pulse.

Gaila shot up so fast that Uhura gave a squeal of surprise. Gaila whipped out a phaser and pointed it staight at Uhura’s forehead, her other hand gripping Uhura’s wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”

Uhura almost laughed with relief. “I thought you were dead!”

Gailia relaxed slightly, her eyes roaming over Uhura’s face. “Is it really you?”

Uhura pointed to her earrings, a small gold pair shaped like shooting stars. “You gave me these on my birthday our first year at the academy. I’d had no idea that you remembered when my birthday was, and you threw me a little surprise bash at the local bar. Even Kirk came.”

Gaila relaxed completely, her shoulders dropping along with the phaser. “It is you!”

Uhura helped to haul the other woman to her feet. “Did you play dead?”

“The blast just barely missed me,” Gaila said, showing off her singed uniform. “So I just flopped onto the ground and held my breath. They didn’t even bother checking to make sure I’d died.”

Uhura led her out of the room, eager to check on Rand. The yeoman was lying where she’d left her, eyes going wide as she saw Gaila. “You’re… okay!” She croaked.

“Hopefully you will be too,” Gaila replied, kneeling down to check on Rand. “It’s bleeding heavily,” she informed Uhura. “She’ll need medical attention.”

“Can you get her down to Sickbay?” Uhura asked. “I need to tell the captain that two of the prisoners escaped.”

Gaila nodded, tenderly stroking Rand’s cheek. Looked like Rand’s crush wasn’t so one-sided after all, Uhura thought, taking in the expression of sappy devotion on Rand’s face as she stared up at Gaila.

And to think, both women had once had crushes on James T. Kirk.

Uhura rolled her eyes to herself as she ran for the bridge.

* * *

“No. Absolutely not.” McCoy folded his arms and glared at Sulu and Marcus. “I’m putting my foot down.”

“Leonard—”

“Last time I checked, I was the captain here,” Kirk cut in. “And I say it’s our best shot.”

When Marcus and Sulu had come to him with the idea of posing as their mirrors, seeing as said mirrors were now dead, he hadn’t liked it. There were too many things that could go wrong. But it was logical, as Spock had pointed out, and it wasn’t like they had a lot of options at this point. Mirror Spock and his crew were going to keep at them until either they all died or they gave them what they wanted, and neither option was one Kirk wanted to explore.

Bones, however, was less than pleased about the idea of sending Marcus and Sulu—although if they were being honest, mostly Marcus—into enemy territory and he was putting up a hell of a fuss as only Bones could.

Kirk resisted the urge to rub at his temples. “Okay. Marcus, Sulu, I want you to be as cautious as you can. Don’t do anything to rock the boat, just get information and get back here as soon as possible. I don’t want you risking yourselves. Bones, you’re welcome to watch from the bridge if it makes you feel better. Chekov, Scotty’s still working on the wormhole thing so I want you on the transporter so you can beam them back.”

“What about Lt. Gaila, sir?” Chekov inquired.

Kirk shook his head. “Still with Rand in Sickbay.” And what the hell was going on there, he really needed to find out once this all died down. “Spock, with me. Uhura, you too.”

Uhura nodded her head while Spock murmured a quiet, “Of course, Captain.”

Kirk glanced over at his First Officer, unsure what to think of the strangely soft edge to Spock’s tone, but the Vulcan’s face was unusually blank.

“All right.” Kirk nodded at Marcus and Sulu. “Good luck.”

* * *

Kirk sat himself in the captain’s chair, his hands curling over the edge of the armrests. “Open communications.”

Uhura nodded and did as she was told, forcing herself not to hold her breath.

Only the warm presence of Spock standing just to his side stopped Kirk from feeling completely exposed as the communications opened and he looked into the face of Mirror Spock. The Vulcan stared at Kirk as though he already knew everything about him, including the best way to take him apart.

Well, maybe he had known his Kirk, whoever that guy had been, but he didn’t know _this_ Kirk. The rebellious part of him snarled inside of his chest, wanting to assert itself.

“Have you considered my proposal?” Mirror Spock asked.

It wasn’t just that he was looking at Kirk in that possessive way. It was that there was something about that look that reminded Kirk of how his Spock sometimes looked at him—but there was something raw and dark in this Spock’s gaze that was missing from the Spock that Kirk knew. It made Kirk want to squirm because he didn’t _mind_ that part of the look all that much. It wasn’t possessive or twisted or anything like that, it was just… emotional and honest. It wasn’t just the look of someone gazing at someone for whom they cared; it was someone who was letting that emotion show and didn’t care who saw it.

Kirk felt his stomach curl in as though someone had punched him. His ears seemed to be ringing a little too, like he’d been dealt a roundhouse. This other Spock loved him. Okay, maybe not him, but the other version of him. Kirk had sort of assumed it before, what with the whole bondmate talk, but now he was really looking and he could see it. It was in the dark, raw light in his eyes, the tight, tired lines around his mouth and the angry set of his jaw.

There was still that possessive demeanor that made Kirk shudder, the one that told him this love was not a love that he should welcome, but he suddenly found himself wishing that at least the other part of it was there in his Spock.

But if he was wishing that his Spock loved him, then that meant that he—

There was no time for this.

Kirk squared his shoulders. “While we were giving your so-called proposal the consideration it required, we found several of your crewmembers aboard our ship. They murdered several of our crew, including an entire security team, before we could apprehend them. Dr. Marcus, Lt. Sulu, Ensign Chekov and Lt. Uhura are in our brig as we speak, and—”

“It’s Commander Uhura, if you please. I was promoted when I became First Officer.”

Mirror Uhura strode onto the screen, her eyes gleaming with anger, as if she were affronted that someone dared to assign her a lower rank. Mirror Chekov was right behind her, and he glared at Kirk as though Kirk had just insulted the Russian language.

“Our colleagues should be along in a moment,” Mirror Uhura said to her captain. “Oh! I think I hear the transporter.”

Sure enough, Marcus and Sulu entered the bridge. Sulu had acquired the supplies to make himself a fake scar and Marcus had reapplied her makeup to match her counterpart’s. Kirk had to admit that to him, they both looked the part. The question was if they could act it.

“I thought I heard you were back.”

Kirk stiffened and suppressed the urge to look over his left shoulder to where he knew Bones was watching from the bridge doors. There was a calm, commanding tone to the voice, as if the owner were used to absolute power, but it was still a voice that Kirk would have recognized anywhere.

On the bridge of the other ship, Dr. McCoy had strode in.

And he was headed straight for Marcus.

* * *

Carol thought that they were doing well so far. No one had batted an eye at them, so she assumed that she and Sulu looked like they should. She’d tried to walk and carry herself like her other had, with that touch of malicious glee in her face and voice, and it seemed to be working. Sulu certainly had the sullen glower of his other down pat. Carol made a mental note to compliment him once they were safely off the ship—and then realized that he might not see it as a compliment.

They strode onto the bridge with a confidence that she really didn’t feel, her stomach trembling and twisting as she approached the other Uhura and Spock. There was hatred in this Uhura’s every movement, so she’d known to be wary of her, but Carol almost took a step backward as she was assaulted with the presence of this other Spock. He seemed to radiate a power that was both cold and dynamic. Pre-Surak Vulcans, Carol remembered, had been controlled by primal emotions that few humans could achieve or even dream of feeling. It was as if this Spock had combined those pre-Surak instincts with his cold logic, using the logic to release those emotions strategically and in the manner that would best get him what he wanted.

Carol only had time to spare a thought to their own Spock, and to wonder if he felt such emotions, before the doors to the bridge opened and she heard a familiar drawl.

“I thought I heard you were back.”

Even with her back turned, she knew that he was talking to her. She turned, trying not to do so either too slowly or too quickly, and found herself struggling to hold in her horror.

Leonard—this other Leonard—had a uniform covered in blood.

Carol wasn’t sure if she wanted to gag or punch him in the throat. She felt irrationally angry. Everything about this man suggested that he liked to see others in pain. There was the blood on his uniform—she thought she could even see flecks of it in his stubble as he came closer—and in his eyes glowed the blood thirst of a tyrant, the kind that not only enjoys absolute power but revels in using it to hurt others.

Carol tried to stand completely still as he approached, feeling rather like a gazelle with a lion. She had no idea what her other’s relationship was with this Leonard. It could be anything. In fact, her imagination was happy to supply a great number of twisted ideas as to the nature of that relationship and she thought she could taste bile.

For all of his crankiness and for all that he snapped at his patients, Leonard was a doctor who wanted to heal people. Carol had sat through too many long whiskey-filled nights after he’d lost a patient, coaxing the bottle out of his hand and reminding him that it wasn’t his fault, he had done all that he could, some things just couldn’t be changed. She knew, for all his barking and grumbling, how he truly felt. Everyone on the _Enterprise_ trusted him, and she knew of several crewmembers that’d arranged to get him a gift of some kind after he’d operated on them or found a way to get them back from being five years old or a fish or something equally ridiculous. And she’d seen him—they’d all seen him—when Jim had died. She’d brought him coffee, and she knew Uhura and Scotty had joined forces to make him eat. They’d even sent Chekov to unleash the puppy eyes when nothing else was working.

(Spock, of course, had been too busy just sitting there staring at the captain’s comatose body to be of any help to anyone.)

The Leonard that Carol knew was kind, loving even, and dedicated to his patients. He was a doctor, and he wanted to heal people.

This man was nothing like that.

Carol forced herself to tease a smirk around the edges of her mouth. It was just armor. It was just a mask. She could do this.

She braced herself for whatever this other Leonard would say next, but he didn’t say anything. He just slipped an arm around her waist, yanked her in and—

* * *

Kirk had to work hard to stop his jaw from dropping open.

“Uh…” Chekov said eloquently.

Standing ten feet behind him near the bridge doors, Bones folded his arms and all but growled.

The other Bones was kissing the everloving _life_ out of Marcus.

Uhura turned to look over at their Bones. “I see your hands aren’t the only legendary things,” she said, her voice completely neutral.

This time, Bones really did growl.

* * *

Carol held on as tightly as she could and tried to give as good as she got. Something inside of her told her that it was imperative that she sell this kiss.

But it was—she’d just kissed her Leonard, the one that she knew and loved, and there was just no avoiding the fact that this was not the same man. They weren’t. Even if they mostly looked the same she had his tongue down her throat and she was pretty sure that made her an authority on which one was which and they were absolutely _not_ the same person.

The other Leonard pulled back roughly and Carol almost stumbled backwards at the shift. He glared at her, and it wasn’t until anger replaced it that she realized up until then he’d been looking at her with his own version of love.

“You’re not her,” he said.

“What?” The other Uhura spun on her heel. It seemed that everyone else on this alternate crew was used to such displays of affection between Carol and their CMO, because nobody had been bothering to give them a second glance. But now everyone’s attention was riveted on the two of them.

Carol forced herself to stop looking at the other Uhura and back at the other Leonard.

Before she could say anything—protest her innocence—she was spun around, one arm clamping down around her upper chest like a vice, pinning her arms to her sides, while something cold and sharp pressed up against her throat.

She couldn’t move. She could barely even breathe. One slip and she would die.

* * *

Everyone on the bridge froze as the other McCoy pulled back, shock and anger written on his face. “You’re not her.”

“What?” Mirror Uhura spun on her heel, while Mirror Spock adjusted his stance to get a better look at the doctor and Marcus.

Marcus herself looked like she was about to say something. Kirk could almost see her gathering the breath to speak. But then Mirror McCoy grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her around and using one of his arms to pin her back against his chest, her arms stuck at her sides. Something metallic flashed in his other hand and he brought it up to her throat—it was a scalpel, or some other kind of blade, and it was pointed right at Marcus’s jugular.

“No!” Bones exploded, dashing forward before he seemed to remember that Marcus and the other crew were on a screen, and skidded to a stop. His hands were in fists at his sides and his face was almost contorted with fury.

“Oh, Jim,” Mirror McCoy said. Kirk swallowed. It was such a mocking tone, so unlike how his own best friend sounded. “I think you misplaced someone.”

 _Hold still_ , Kirk thought, watching Marcus as she struggled to keep the fear out of her eyes. _Hold still, Marcus. Don’t move._

“Get her back,” Bones growled. “Jim, goddammit, get her out of there!”

“Well,” Mirror Spock said. He gazed around at his crew. “This is a most fascinating development.”

Kirk sucked in a deep breath.

Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.


	9. Chapter 9

Kirk stood, frozen, along with the rest of his crew. Nobody was offering up a suggestion, which was pretty rare. Usually somebody had some kind of idea, even if Kirk himself didn’t.

“Jim.” Bones sounded desperate. “He’s going to kill her.”

Mirror Spock was looking around at his crew. “Uhura,” he said, “Come here.”

Mirror Uhura did so, walking up until she was standing directly in front of her captain. Without saying another word, Mirror Spock lifted his hand, his fingers pressing against her psi points. Mirror Uhura’s eyes rolled back a little in her head as he melded with her.

“What’s going on?” Kirk whispered.

“My counterpart appears to be mind melding with his crew in an attempt to ascertain if they are truly his crewmembers or if they are imposters,” Spock responded.

Kirk’s eyes instinctively flew towards Sulu and he had to force himself to look back at Mirror Spock. Any second now and Sulu would be found out, and he’d have two crewmembers in immediate danger. So long as Sulu wasn’t found out, there was still a chance that Sulu could free Marcus and they could get out of there.

He ran through all of the options. They couldn’t beam Marcus back, since she was too close to Mirror McCoy—to beam back one would mean beaming back the other, and if he were beamed to the other ship, Mirror McCoy would kill Marcus. Kirk had little doubt about that. They couldn’t allow this mind-melding to continue, either—Mirror Spock had moved on from Uhura and was now melding with Mirror Chekov. Sulu would be next, and then he’d be in danger if not shot on the spot.

They had to distract Mirror Spock, and they had to do it now. Kirk had to get his crew back safely.

It was the only option.

He stood up. “Wait!”

Mirror Spock paused, removing his fingers from Mirror Chekov’s face. “Yes?”

“I’ll—I’ll—” Kirk swallowed. “I’ll join you. Just let Marcus go, we’ll—we’ll make an exchange.”

“No!” Marcus yelled. The action made her move slightly, and Kirk could see a thin trail of blood run down her neck. Marcus winced but kept talking. “Captain, please, I’m fine—”

“Kirk—” Uhura warned.

“Jim—” Bones growled.

“But, Keptain!” Chekov yelped.

Only Spock said nothing.

Kirk nodded at Mirror Spock. “Do we have a deal?”

Mirror Spock seemed to consider this. “This course of action is acceptable. We have no need for Dr. Marcus so long as you are in our possession.”

“Captain,” the Mirror McCoy growled. “Where is _our_ —”

Mirror Spock held up a hand, and Mirror McCoy stopped talking. He continued to glare at them, however, and Kirk could almost feel the malice.

“We will lead Dr. Marcus to the transporter room,” Mirror Spock said, “And you will do the same. We will beam her back to your ship in exactly ten minutes, at which time you will beam yourself to our ship. I am obliged to warn you, captain, that if you make any attempt to trick us, we will kill Dr. Marcus. Have I made myself understood?”

Kirk worked to keep the glare off his face. “Yes.”

“Very good.” Mirror Spock nodded at Mirror Uhura, who moved to terminate the communications. “Spock out.”

The screen cut out.

* * *

Sam struggled with her leg. She’d woken up when the red alert had gone out, but she hadn’t managed to reach the crutches that Bones had left just out of her reach—probably on purpose—and she didn’t want to risk her leg. Bones had said that she had to keep it completely still and let it heal or she could lose it. She didn’t really like that idea.

“Sam!”

She looked up at Chekov burst into the room, panting hard. “You must come, quickly!”

She made flapping, grabbing hand gestures at the crutches, which Chekov helpfully handed to her. “What’s going on?”

“The keptain, he is going to give himself up!” Chekov explained. “To save Dr. Marcus and Sulu!”

“What!?”

Sam all but launched herself out of the bed, leg be damned. She wasn’t going to lose another James, not again. “Help me!”

Chekov eyed her crutches, and then her. “You will not be very fast on those.”

Sam sighed. “How long do we have?”

“Ten minutes.”

Sam growled and leveraged herself up onto the crutches, landing heavily on her good foot. “I won’t get there in time on these. Can you run and carry me?” She gestured at herself. “I only weigh 110 pounds.”

Chekov hesitated. “But—but your leg—”

Sam rolled her eyes and hit him with one of the crutches. “Fuck my leg, Chekov, just get me up to the transporter room!”

Heaving a sigh, Chekov turned around and crouched. “It will be easier if we piggyback.”

Sam managed to clamber on, holding the crutches in one hand. This was going to jostle her leg a lot and she grit her teeth in preparation of the discomfort.

“If Dr. McCoy yells at me,” Chekov muttered, “I am telling him it is your fault.”

“Just giddy-up, horsie.”

* * *

Kirk marched to the transporter room with Spock at his heels. He knew that Bones would normally be following him too, and probably yelling the entire time, but the guy was currently busy keeping an eye on his counterpart to make sure he didn’t kill Marcus out of spite. If Marcus didn’t know before that Bones was in love with her, well, she definitely knew now.

Spock, meanwhile, was being alarmingly silent. “What?” Kirk asked. “You aren’t going to tell me how illogical this is?”

“Anything I intend to say, Captain, I am certain you have already considered.”

Kirk looked at Spock out of the corner of his eye. “What’s wrong?”

“Dr. Marcus is at knifepoint, Mr. Sulu is deep in hostile territory, and you are about to give yourself over to a man who will essentially destroy your identity,” Spock replied evenly. “There are many things which qualify as ‘wrong’ about this situation, Captain.”

“Okay, enough with the Captain shit,” Kirk said, coming to a halt. “Something is off, and it’s been off ever since this other crew showed up, and I want to know what’s going on.”

“I must ask you to clarify what you mean by—”

“I mean you’re looking at me differently, Spock!” Kirk bellowed. “You’re talking differently, you’re—you’re holding yourself, standing differently, and I don’t know why that is and it’s driving me nuts!”

“Has it not occurred to you that you are also carrying yourself in a different manner?” Spock replied. “This shift in behavior occurred when Ensign Kirk was interviewed and has persisted ever since. Therefore I might ask you the same question.”

Kirk swallowed his protest, knowing that what Spock said was true. It felt as though with each breath his chest expanded a little too far and contracted just a little too tightly. He’d never before realized how thin his skin was or how fragile his pulse. It was different from when he’d been dying. It was like every part of him was exposed and vulnerable.

He’d been acting differently because he’d been realizing that he was in love with his First Officer.

But Spock couldn’t know that. Maybe Mirror Spock felt that way, and maybe even Sam’s Spock, but this Spock, the Spock that Kirk loved—they’d only just become friends. Spock had broken up with Uhura only six months ago, he couldn’t possibly—he could never—

Kirk cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to behave any differently. It’s just… weird, y’know, to know that there’s another version of you out there somewhere who’s made different choices and had a different life. And then this whole crew—I mean, c’mon Spock, I’m not that special. It makes no sense what they’re doing. Do they even know that they’re probably destroying existence by opening these wormholes?”

“I do not doubt that my counterpart explored every possible outcome of his actions,” Spock replied, “And concluded that he did not care about the consequences of his actions in light of the possibility of obtaining you. You are far greater than you know, Jim. You are a great leader and a good man. I am not surprised that this crew would seek to replace you when you were lost to them.”

Kirk felt a little like the world was tilting. That strange soft note was in Spock’s voice again. “But I’m just…”

“You are ‘just’ nothing, Jim.” Spock’s eyes were boring into his, as if he were trying to impart him with some great treasure.

Kirk cleared his throat. “I told you that in—in Sam’s world, she said that we were… that we bonded. And this other Spock, he called the other me his bondmate.”

Spock stiffened—visibly stiffened, which was rare enough in itself, but even if he’d tried to suppress it, Kirk would have been able to tell. It was funny how well he’d come to read Spock.

“Captain, I fail to see how this is n—”

“Oh, so we’re back to ‘Captain’ now?”

He’d meant for it to sound playful, but it came out more accusatory.

Spock drew himself up. “I merely meant that this is neither the time nor the place for such a conversation.”

“Then when will it be the time and place?” Kirk countered. “Because last I checked we were constantly in a fight for our lives, or beaming down onto some unknown, possibly hostile planet, or there’s paperwork to do, or—Spock, in Sam’s world you _died_. You were the one who sacrificed yourself with Khan. I had to watch you die and there was nothing that I could do.”

“I fail to see—”

“And in both of these alternate worlds we’ve encountered, we’re bonded. Stop me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that mean we’re Vulcan married? And Sam’s world isn’t all that different from ours. She’s the divergence point, she changes things but honestly most of it’s still the same. So if a power-hungry psycho version of us is bonded as well as the pretty-much-the-same version of us, of course I’m going to think this is something we need to talk about!”

Spock said nothing, opting for the silent staring treatment. Once upon a time that had irritated Kirk, but now it just made him all the more determined to get Spock to lose control.

“Once is happenstance,” he said. “Twice is a coincidence. Three is a pattern. We’re number three. What does that make us?”

“Captain,” Spock said, then corrected himself. “Jim. What are you suggesting?”

They were standing very close—but they were always standing very close, Kirk realized. They always stood too close, always touched more than they should, always looked into each other’s eyes for just a beat too long, always… always… dancing on the edge of something, something he’d been an idiot and not even recognized until now, now that they were barely an inch apart and he could just lean onto his tiptoes and—

“James!”

He’d grown kind of fond of Sam but really? _Really?_

Kirk turned to see Chekov carefully crouching down so that Sam could slide off of his back—he seemed to have given her a piggyback ride—and Sam hoisted herself up onto her crutches.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Kirk said.

“And you’re supposed to be staying as far away from that bearded creep as possible,” Sam replied. She moved pretty fast for someone on crutches, crossing the space in almost no time. “If you think I’m going to let you go through with this, you’re an idiot.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Kirk replied, unsure of why he was defending himself to her.

“There’s always a choice!” Sam replied. “I thought you didn’t believe in no-win scenarios.”

“It’s not that I do, it’s just—”

“I find myself agreeing with Ensign Kirk on this matter, Captain, as I—”

“I agree as well, Keptain, you cannot—”

“—hold on, _I’m_ the captain here, you three can’t—”

“I lost you once!” Sam screamed. “I’m not going to lose you again!”

Her words seemed to ring in the echoing silence that followed. Tears stood in Sam’s eyes as she swallowed thickly. “I had to watch you die once,” she whispered. “I can’t—don’t make me say goodbye again. Please.”

“Jim.” Spock’s voice was so soft that Kirk could almost call it a whisper. “I find myself echoing Ensign Kirk’s sentiment.”

Kirk stared at his First Officer. Spock cleared his throat. Kirk couldn’t remember when Spock had ever had to clear his throat. “There was nothing that I could do to prevent your death, although I have often berated myself for not being there in your stead or for preventing you from giving your life in such a fashion. I know that such behavior is illogical. However, logical or not, there would be nothing that could prevent me from loathing myself if I were to allow myself to lose you again. My counterpart will subsume your personality and identity with that of his t’hy’la, and you will cease to be yourself. It would be a form of death, and I cannot allow that to happen.”

“That’s the word!” Sam exclaimed. Her eyes were wide. “That’s—that’s what you said!”

“What?” Kirk and Spock said in unison, turning their heads to look at her.

“As—Spock died first, in my world,” Sam explained. “And James—he stopped, he was crying, it was hard to tell since he was farther away but he was talking in Vulcan to Spock and he said that word. T’hy’la.” Sam’s pronunciation was awful but it was clearly the same word that Spock had just used.

Kirk turned to look at Spock. “What does that word mean?”

He could have been imagining it, but he thought he saw the tips of Spock’s ears turn the faintest shade of green. “The meaning is manifold. It means friend, brother, and lover—someone whom one loves as friend, as family, and as a romantic partner. To use a colloquialism, one’s soulmate.”

“Th’y’la,” Kirk said, trying the word out on his tongue.

This time, Spock’s cheeks tinted green.

* * *

Sulu simultaneously tried to act as normal as possible while also keeping an eye on Marcus. She was doing a good job of not looking over at him, which was helpful. Mirror McCoy still had the knife-scalpel-whatever digging into her skin and Sulu could see the thin trail of blood sliding down her throat.

“What did you do to her?” Mirror McCoy growled. “Did you kill her?”

Sulu tried to think. He couldn’t let the captain give himself up for them. The fate that this crew had planned for him made Sulu’s stomach roil like he’d had bad fish. He had to find some way to get Marcus free, and then they could make a break for the transporter room.

“It was self-defense,” Marcus replied.

Mirror McCoy’s grip on Marcus tightened and he looked over at Mirror Spock. “Can I play with her?” He asked.

“No,” Mirror Spock said in the tone of one telling a child that school was not cancelled.

“She killed _Carol_ ,” McCoy replied, his face flushing red. “She killed her!”

“Doctor, if you are unable to control your emotions then I shall have Uhura hold Dr. Marcus at gunpoint while you are sent to Sickbay to calm down.”

The entire time that Spock spoke, McCoy’s grip on Marcus tightened, and the point of his knife dug just a little deeper into her throat. Her eyes locked with Sulu’s. He had never seen her look so frightened.

 _It’s okay_ , he wanted to whisper. _It’ll be okay._

He had to think of something.

* * *

Kirk strode towards the transporter bay with new purpose. He had a plan. He had a _plan!_ And it was a good plan! A plan that would work!

Okay, it might work and it might also totally blow up in his face but that was how the majority of his plans worked and he’d only died once so overall he counted it as a sound strategy.

Spock, however, did not agree.

Neither did Sam for that matter, but Kirk had ordered Chekov to pick her back up again and take her to the bridge if she insisted on not going back to Sickbay—“just lie around on a bed and wait to see if you’ve been mind wiped? I don’t think so!”—so she wasn’t around to protest.

Kirk entered the transporter room first, but the moment Spock entered, the ensign managing the console took one look and all but fled from the room. Smart man. Woman. Kirk still couldn’t tell the three genders of the Gemakia race apart.

It was all right. Kirk knew how to work a transporter. He started punching in the digits himself.

“Captain.” Spock had that slight tightness to his voice that suggested he was reaching the end of his patience. Kirk had heard that tone only a few times, because it was different from Spock’s usual exasperated tone, the one he used when he disagreed with Kirk but wasn’t truly upset with him. “I cannot allow you—”

“I’m the captain, Spock, I’m pretty sure you don’t have to allow me to do anything.” Kirk finished putting in the code. “I have a plan.”

“May I inquire as to the nature of this plan?” Spock replied.

Kirk spun to face him. “The other you said that they were just mirrors of ourselves, right? And what is a mirror? It’s a reflection of yourself. Sure, it’s not an entirely accurate reflection, but it’s still essentially you. That means that this other Kirk was essentially me. I know me. And I know you. I can persuade you—the other you—that this isn’t what I—the other me—would want. If I can persuade him of that, they’ll leave. I know they will. And we can patch up whatever universe-ending thing it is that they did.”

“And what if you are wrong?” Spock replied. His eyes flashed and Kirk almost took an involuntary step back. Spock was his friend, someone he… well. That meant he sometimes forgot that Spock could actually pretty damn terrifying. “What if you fail and you are taken by them?”

“I won’t fail.”

“No captain can cheat death.”

“I did it once already.”

“And I would greatly appreciate it if I did not have to see it happen a second time.”

“He will listen to me,” Kirk replied. “He _will_ , Spock. I know he will. I always get my way with you, don’t I? How will this other you be any different?”

“Because you do not _know_ , Jim!” Spock’s voice was rising. “You do not understand what you stir in me! That man will not stop until he has you, and I know this because I would not stop until I had you. I would do anything within my power to bring you back if I lost you, and I am not entirely sure that I would not ignore the consequences just as this alternate version of myself has done. And barring any chance to reclaim you, I would settle for nothing less than the most brutal vengeance I could wreck upon those that had taken you from me!”

Up until that moment Kirk had been pretty sure that ‘jaw dropping’ was just an expression, having never seen or experienced it.

And then Spock said that, and Kirk’s jaw dropped open.

Spock seemed to deflate a little, his shoulders doing that slightly-curling-inward thing that they did when he was unsure of himself. He looked away, towards the transporter pad. “I cannot pretend that I did not already know grief. It is not that. What I felt when my mother died was almost beyond words. She had always been the one person whose affections I could depend upon, whose love I never doubted. I had never taken the opportunity to show her the gratitude that she deserved. When I lost you, however…”

Spock paused and Kirk realized that for the first time, he was seeing his First Officer at a loss for words.

After a moment, Spock drew himself up. “I am afraid that I cannot find the words that adequately describe the emotions that I felt. The closest that I can come to approximating the sensation is if I had my organs removed: I felt both pain and emptiness.”

Knowing Spock, that metaphor was probably not only painful to come up with, but fell woefully short of exactly how bad those emotions had been. Vulcans had a talent for understatement.

“The only thought in my mind was revenge. I could not save you. I could not even provide you with companionship and peace by melding with you. And I had not told you, for I had not realized until that moment, what you meant to me. My grief was funneled into rage and I went after Khan.”

“You went after him?” Kirk’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yes.” Spock sounded almost ashamed. “Khan was in possession of enhanced human strength and agility, but being Vulcan, I was a match for him physically.”

“And mentally,” Kirk added with a grin. He was rewarded with Spock’s all-but-patented eyebrow twitch.

“Perhaps.” Spock’s eyes slid back to the floor. “I almost killed him. I would have, had Lt. Uhura not stopped me with the knowledge that we needed Khan’s blood to save you.”

“You almost killed him?” Kirk echoed.

Spock continued to stare at the floor. “I… I found I could not stop hitting him. I wanted to—but it is of no consequence.” Finally, his eyes drifted back up to meet Kirk’s gaze. “I am telling you this not because I wish for anything from you. I have long understood that a reciprocation of such feelings is impossible. I merely wish for you to understand what I am capable of when I lose you. If I can kill a man with my bare hands in the bloodiest way, the most vicious way, possible, then surely you can imagine what a darker version of myself would do.”

Spock took a step closer, not in a seductive way but as if he needed to get closer to properly get his point across. “Using Khan’s blood broke a myriad of Federation logs. If it were known what we did to save you, Dr. McCoy and I would be subject to a court martial and undoubtedly stripped of our rankings. We had to lie on many official transcripts and falsify your medical records. Very few individuals are actually aware that you died.”

Kirk stared at him. He—people didn’t know he’d died? They’d had to—of course he’d known that using Khan’s blood probably wasn’t in the regs but he’d always thought that Spock, _Spock_ of all people, would have petitioned and gotten an exception or permission or something, something other than breaking the _law_.

“Who knows?” He croaked. His voice sounded like he hadn’t used it in days and he had to swallow a few times to get some moisture back into it.

“Dr. McCoy, of course. Dr. Marcus, since she assisted us in falsifying the records and rarely left Dr. McCoy’s side during your recovery process. Uhura and Mr. Scott, since Mr. Scott was there when you died and Uhura was the one they sent to convince me to spare Khan’s life. Ensign Chekov, since he was also present when you died. Mr. Sulu, since he took over many administrative duties and because it is impossible for Ensign Chekov to know something without telling Mr. Sulu. And the alien known as Keenser, although I am not entirely sure he counts as he is not even on the official crew records.”

“So just the eight of us,” Kirk said. It felt as though a great weight had settled into his chest. His friends had broken numerous laws and set themselves up for a court martial, their names dragged through the mud and everything they had worked for their entire lives taken away from them—all on the chance that his life could be saved.

Suddenly, the idea of another crew creating a wormhole to get to him didn’t seem so crazy after all.

“You really do not know the loyalty you inspire in others,” Spock said. That soft tone was back in his voice but now it had taken over, making it sound as though they were in a bedroom rather than next to a transporter pad where anyone could walk in.

Kirk swallowed. “I guess not.” Now he was the one who was looking at the floor. He forced himself to meet Spock’s gaze. He hadn’t realized just how soft Spock’s eyes were until he’d seen Mirror Spock, seen the cold, hard gaze inside of them. Spock had once told him that his peers had teased him for having human eyes. If only they’d known what a compliment they were giving him. “But you don’t know either, do you?”

Spock seemed taken aback. “Captain?”

“Cut the captain crap for two seconds.” Kirk shifted his weight, bringing them that much closer together. “In Sam’s universe, you died. You fixed the core and you died, not me. She said she’d never seen me lose it like that. I went after Khan. I did the same thing that you did with me. And hearing that…”

He shook his head, letting out a puff of air that probably gusted over Spock’s face, seeing how close they were now standing. “I was never sure what to label you, y’know, in my head. You were a friend, but not like Bones or Sulu. You weren’t family—I mean you were, but I consider everyone on this ship family and you weren’t like that. And what Sam said kept messing me up. It just wouldn’t leave my head and I realized that I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you like that, even if it wasn’t permanent. And I saw how Mirror Spock looks at me, and I know it’s twisted and wrong, I’m not saying that it isn’t, because I’m not his Kirk but there’s still all this—this love when he looks at me and I realized I was jealous of my other self because you could never look at me—and then Sam said that word and I realized that I… I mean, if you, we…”

He ran a hand through his hair and then gestured, feeling inarticulate and helpless. Maybe if he was Uhura he could think up just the right words to say. Maybe if he was Sulu he could be properly romantic, or if he were Marcus it would all sound good because he had a British accent. Hell, even Bones had a way with words when he actually cared to think about what he was saying. But he had nothing. Nothing at all to convey all that was stirring up in his chest, rising higher and higher like a tidal wave about to sweep him under.

“T’hy’la,” he said. “That word, it feels right. It fits what we are, what I—how I feel. About you.”

For a moment Spock stood there and Jim had the distinct pleasure of seeing the Vulcan completely, utterly stunned for the first time since he’d met him. Jim could feel the tension in the room, something that had always been there and he’d learned to just ignore, never realizing that it might be _that_ kind of tension, the tension that sparks between two people when they want but think they cannot take…

And then something inside of him snapped, apparently at the same moment that it did for Spock, because both of them were moving forward and it was too fast and they were crashing into each other, two planets wildly out of orbit, but then Spock slid his hands up to cup Jims face and he managed to get some of Spock’s shirt in his hands and tug him closer and adjust and _there_.

He was going to have to compliment Uhura on her teaching skills later, because holy fuck could Spock kiss. He’d had a feeling that Spock would be more careful, deliberate, perhaps methodical, but this was nothing like that. It was domination and sweeping emotion and it took Jim a minute to realize that it was Spock’s hands on his face, he could literally feel Spock’s emotions, and holy shit he’d never thought—it was deep, like an ocean, like the heart of a volcano, and he wanted to drown in it for the rest of his life because he was a greedy, selfish person who wanted to just feel this love forever.

 _Yours_ , the word seemed to echo in his mind, like a ghost of a word. And then _Mine_ , in the same voice, reverberating through his head.

“Yeah,” he agreed, pulling back just long enough to talk in between pressing his mouth along the line of Spock’s jaw. “Yours, I’m yours, and you’re mine, always.”

Part of him was terrified. Good things didn’t happen to James T. Kirk. Maybe they were supposed to, once, before Nero came along and wrecked everything. Maybe in Sam’s universe they did. Maybe even in the Mirror Universe, before something came along and killed him. He’d mess this up, somehow prove to Spock that he wasn’t actually worthy of the love he was happily drowning in, and he’d be left to pick up the pieces of himself like he always did.

The rest of him felt—not just happy, but whole. Complete. Something had clicked and slid into place, and he felt more like himself, more alive, than he had in ages. This was how it was supposed to be. This was the way that things were meant to be.

He felt a pleased, almost purring sensation in his mind, and realized that Spock was probably reading his every thought.

Just to test it, Jim pictured himself sinking down onto his knees, rubbing his cheek against Spock’s inseam as his fingers worked to undo—

The hands at his face slid down to his shoulders and he was turned, stumbling back, almost falling over only to have his back collide with the wall, and then Spock was pressed against him and Jim opened his mouth, in invitation or on a gasp even he couldn’t be sure, and Spock was sliding his tongue right in like it belonged there and maybe it did, sure, yes, it totally belonged there, and Jim was never going to have a clean thought again if this was what thinking dirty got him.

He spread his legs, worming one of them in between Spock’s and arching up against him, slipping his one arm underneath Spock’s shirt at his back and sliding it up, trying to press them as close together as possible. Spock grabbed at his other hand before he could do anything with it, entangling their fingers, and oh, right, didn’t Vulcans have a thing about hands?

Jim squeezed Spock’s hand and ran his thumb over the back of it, and the full-body shudder that earned him was proof enough. Jim grinned into the kiss and arched up again, sliding their lower bodies together. He pictured all of the things he wanted to do to Spock when they had the time—and all the things he wanted Spock to do to him.

Spock growled— _growled_ —into his mouth and ground against him. Jim could feel Spock’s cock through his clothes and the friction was perfect but it also wasn’t enough and he wanted—

Apparently he conveyed what he wanted pretty well through their mental bond, because Spock shoved a hand down Jim’s pants.

Jim groaned, breaking off the kiss to get his hands on Spock’s waist, trying to tug both their pants down at once. It definitely wasn’t his most coordinated moment, but he was a little too desperate to care. Spock might not know it yet but Jim was still going onto that other ship and rescuing his crew, risks to himself be damned, and if he never got the chance again he wanted, he _wanted_ , almost needed this memory seared into his mind so that no amount of probing or melding or whatever could ever erase it.

After some fumbling—made all the worse because Spock couldn’t stop doing things like scraping his teeth along his ear which was really fucking hot but also making his hand-eye coordination go to shit—he finally got their pants shoved down around their ankles and then he could press in just a little closer and wrap a hand around both of them and—

Spock beat him to it, larger (only slightly larger, thanks) hand wrapping around both of their cocks, causing them to slide and rut together and fuck fuck _fuck_!

“Fuck,” he said out loud, just on the off chance that Spock couldn’t hear the expletive screaming in his head, and he banged his head back against the wall. “Don’t—don’t stop, don’t you _dare_ —”

Spock made a sound that might have been a growl or perhaps an attempt at a word, and then there was nothing, no room for coherent thought, just the slide and slap of skin on skin, kissing when they could but mostly just panting together, their hot breath mingling and he could still feel Spock in his mind, perhaps because of their joined hands, a warm golden glow that felt almost like touching infinity but mostly like home. He’d forgotten what that feeling was, might not have even had it in the first place, but now he had it and he knew he was already addicted. He could only hope that somehow, Spock could feel him echoing it back, trying to scream it in his head because he was too far gone to speak, inching closer and closer to that edge that drove him, both of them, fire in his veins and his head and it was all too much, his body and mind both being filled with this golden liquid pleasure and it was _too much._

He groaned, body arching almost violently, dimly aware that Spock was shuddering and stiffening as well, and oh shit their shirts were going to be absolutely ruined.

Jim slumped forward, his head sinking down to rest on Spock’s shoulder, his body still trembling. “Fuck.”

“I believe you already expressed that sentiment.”

Jim managed to raise his head up to give a snarky reply, but then he caught the warmth in Spock’s eyes and he felt a hopeless grin spreading over his face. “Did you just make a joke?”

Spock’s expression didn’t change, but Jim could feel an emotion in the back of his mind that felt like a smirk.

“We are not bonded properly,” Spock said, answering the question that Jim was only beginning to form. “But the doorway has been opened.”

Figuring that Spock would know his sappy thoughts in a second anyway, Jim gave in to his instinct to lean forward and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he murmured. “I like it.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim could both feel and see the surprise, like a tiny blooming flame in the back of his mind. “My understanding was that you might not appreciate being so connected with another—”

“What?” Jim tightened his hold on Spock’s hand. “No. I mean, if you don’t want it—”

“No.” Spock’s voice was swift and firm but still gentle, and Jim could feel a spark of interest.

He grinned. “Good.”

* * *

“Dr. McCoy, if you would please escort Dr. Marcus to the transporter room.” The lines around Mirror Spock’s mouth tightened but his eyes gleamed.

This was his chance. Sulu stood. “Captain, if I may volunteer to take Dr. McCoy’s place as Dr. Marcus’s escort?”

Both Mirror Uhura and Mirror Spock turned to look at him. Uhura’s eyebrows were raised in contempt. “May I inquire as to why you volunteer, Mr. Sulu?” Spock asked.

Sulu tried to keep his tone as even as possible. “Sir, surely you can see how enraged the doctor is. He’ll kill Dr. Marcus the first chance that he gets, or take her down to Sickbay to… play.” It was a gamble, but it apparently paid off, because Mirror McCoy was now glaring at him. “My professional opinion is that he’s emotionally compromised. I can escort Dr. Marcus and make sure that the transfer goes as it should. Chekov can watch the helm for me while I’m gone.”

He gave Chekov his best _don’t fuck this up_ glare. He never would have given his own Chekov such a glare. The poor kid would have avoided him for the rest of the week. In this situation, however, it seemed like the appropriate thing to do.

Sulu held his breath. What if this Spock wasn’t planning to honor the agreement? What if he was just going to have Marcus killed?

Mirror Spock observed him for a moment, then inclined his head. In that, at least, he was the same as the Spock that Sulu knew. “Your logic is sound, Mr. Sulu. You may escort Dr. Marcus.”

Sulu stood and made his way over. McCoy glared at him and Sulu knew that if he were planning on sticking around, the doctor would be sure to pay him back in some way, but for now he just released his hold on Marcus and stepped back.

He grabbed Marcus’s forearm and pointed his phaser at her back. “March,” he ordered.

Marcus obeyed, her body still rigid with fear, but her eyes flicking to his with gratitude.

* * *

They cleaned up quickly, Jim heading for the transporter pad. Spock caught his wrist. “You are not still thinking of attempting to appeal to my counterpart,” Spock asked.

Jim looked back at him, twisting his wrist so that he could slide two of his fingers along Spock’s palm. He’d seen Uhura do that a couple of times back when she and Spock were dating and he’d asked her about it. Uhura had told him that it was the Vulcan version of a kiss, and that Spock preferred it to human kissing unless they were in the privacy of one of their quarters.

The gesture took some of the tension out of Spock’s shoulders, but he remained firm. “Jim. I cannot allow you—”

“I know.” Kirk sighed. “But what other choice do we have? Think about it Spock, if we do anything else, Marcus will die and it’s only a matter of time before Sulu is found out. And they’ll keep attacking us until I hand myself over. At least now we’ll have as few casualties as possible and I can try and save us.”

“There is still the matter of existence itself to consider,” Spock replied. “If we do not find a way to seal up this wormhole and rectify the situation, life itself will unravel—if it has not already begun.”

Kirk nodded. “I know. That’s why I need to act fast.”

He stepped forward, grabbing fistfuls of Spock’s shirt to pull him in and kiss him for all he was worth. If this was going to be the last time, then he wanted it to be one to remember.

It was perfect, slick tongues and heat and desire, and then he was pulling away, shoving Spock back and running to the transporter because he knew hat Spock would never let him go, pressing the button and hopping into place on the pad—

Hoping that his plan would work.

* * *

Chekov was helping Sam to make her way slowly to the bridge when they heard Scotty start shouting.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it! That bastard, I’ve got it!”

The two teenagers looked at each other, and then at Scotty as he barreled down the corridor towards them. “Where’s Kirk?” He demanded.

Chekov placed a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder as her throat tightened. “He’s gone to give himself up to the other crew, since they have Dr. Marcus.”

Scotty gaped at her. “What? He can’t do that! I’ve figured it out!”

“Figured out what?” Chekov asked.

“How they made the wormhole into another dimension—look, it’s all right here.”

Sam and Chekov both stared at the PADD. Chekov understood about two-thirds of it, but Sam felt she could have been staring at gibberish for all it made sense to her.

“The problem,” Scotty explained, “Is that we don’ have all of the parts I need in order to reverse the issue and sew up the holes, so to speak. And if we don’t do that, the wormholes are just going to keep expanding through and the strings will keep vibrating, so to speak, an’ the next thing y’ know—”

He made his hands mimic a bomb going off. “Boom. End of life, end of existence!”

“How—” Sam started to ask.

“String theory, right?” Chekov added, cutting her off.

Sam shook her head. “Never mind, I don’t think I want to know.”

“If I know my other self, and I should think I do, he’s me,” Scotty went on, “He’ll be prepared for me to steal those parts. I can’t have that. I need those parts to rewire the _Enterprise_ ’s transporter and warp systems so we can patch things up before we’re all done for.”

“I can do it,” Sam said.

Both men looked at her. “You can’t,” Chekov reminded her. “Your leg.”

Sam glared at him. “I’m the only one who can. Think about it—every one of you has a counterpart in that universe, someone who thinks and feels almost exactly the way that you do. They can predict your every move and you can predict theirs. It’s a stalemate. And if you go in and pretend to be your other self, someone will find you out, like they did with Carol. I’m from a completely different universe. I think… I think if we laid out our universes like layers in a cake, your universe would be right in between mine and this other one. I’m the only thing different from this universe, and that other universe, it’s a twisted version of this one. Ergo, I don’t exist in that universe and I don’t have a counterpart. They can’t predict what I’ll do.”

Chekov took in her firm stance and the stubborn gleam in her eyes. It reminded him of the captain, and he knew that she wasn’t going to stop until she got her way. “All right. But I am going with you.”

“Brilliant.” Scotty grinned at them. “Now, time to show the other me who’s the real genius around here.”

* * *

“Spock!” McCoy dashed into the room, several security members and Nurse Chapel at his heels. “You called? Where’s Jim?”

“He has transported to the other ship,” Spock replied. His voice felt strangely calm, even to his own ears. “Dr. Marcus and Mr. Sulu should be arriving momentarily.”

* * *

Kirk forced his shoulders down and back as he materialized in the other transporter room, keeping his chin up. He wanted to look like a captain from the moment the others saw him.

Mirror Spock was the first person that he saw. The Vulcan was staring at him hungrily and Kirk had to try and force his heartbeat to stay steady. He could do this. This Spock might be different but at the heart Kirk knew it had to be the same person, in a way. He knew he could reach him.

To his right, he saw Sulu with Marcus, his phaser pointed at her. Marcus’s neck was a mess of blood, but Kirk guessed it was just because of where the wound was located and not because she was seriously injured. He nodded at her as he passed.

Marcus shook her head slightly, her mouth moving in a silent _no_.

Kirk ignored her. He was her captain, and that meant it was his job to protect her, and Sulu. He couldn’t have left them to die.

“Mr. Sulu, please place Dr. Marcus on the transporter pad.” Mirror Spock’s eyes never left Kirk as he spoke.

Sulu took Marcus up to the pad, but continued to stand with her. Mirror Uhura’s eyes flickered over in surprise. “What—”

There was a flash of light, and both officers were gone.

Kirk looked straight into Mirror Spock’s eyes. “Well. You got me.”

* * *

Everyone held their breath as a figure—two figures—emerged on the transporter pad.

Sulu and Marcus.

Sulu released her the second that he realized where they were. McCoy dashed forward, checking Marcus’s wound. Her knees seemed to give out on her the moment that he touched her and she ended up collapsing against his chest, her head on his shoulder while he held her. She was shaking.

“The captain,” Sulu said, walking up to Spock. “He’s there, how could you let him do that?”

“I did not let him,” Spock replied.

“Jim’s _over there_?” McCoy demanded, one hand stroking through Marcus’s hair almost absentmindedly. “We’re going to lose him!”

Spock allowed his fingers to curl slightly inward, like the beginnings of a fist. “I do not intend to lose him, Dr. McCoy.”

* * *

Meanwhile, in the bowels of the _I.S.S. Enterprise_ , two figures materialized.

Chekov set his phaser to kill and nodded at Sam, who had abandoned her crutches. “Let us go.”

Silently they slipped through the enemy ship.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam pulled out her phaser as she moved slowly through the ship, Chekov about ten feet in front of her. It made her nervous that he was so far away—the last time she’d gotten separated from her crewmembers, her brother and his bondmate had died and Uhura had gotten severely injured. She knew it was ridiculous but it still felt like someone was pinching her stomach tight. If she didn’t keep close to him, the irrational part of her mind whispered, she’d lose him like she’d lost her other crewmembers.

She kept her eyes and phaser up, covering Chekov as they made their way to the warp core and he began unscrewing panels. Sam hadn’t been down here since Khan, when Spock had died and she’d had to tear after her brother, hold him back because his first instinct (the idiot) had been to open the door and yank Spock back out (which would have irradiated the entire ship and killed them all). To be fair, James hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly at the time. He’d actually elbowed her in the face by accident during that little altercation. She’d had a black eye for a week.

Chekov muttered to himself in Russian as he deftly moved aside various wires, reaching a hand in to yank out the parts that he needed. Sam had all but grown up in Starfleet. She’d been accepted when she was only thirteen—which was what had compelled James to join, since “somebody has to keep an eye on you, Rainman”—and before that she’d spent most of her life in various Starfleet outposts, depending on where Mom was stationed. She had taken the command course rather than Engineering, but she was far from stupid and she’d taken many Operations and Science courses on top of her Command track courses while at the Academy.

The point of all this being she generally knew her way around a starship, and she knew what she was supposed to be looking at when she peered underneath the ship panels. But the machinery in front of her right now was like nothing she’d ever seen before.

“What _is_ that?” She whispered, pointing at something that looked kind of like a piston, if a piston had merged with a sundial and then tried out a career as a guitar.

“I believe it is the converter on Scotty’s list,” Chekov replied, tapping his PADD.

“We need better than you believe. If you grab the wrong equipment—”

There was a thumping sound from the other side of the machinery, too sudden and not methodical enough to simply be another part of the ship.

“Footsteps,” Sam whispered.

She peered around the corner and caught a glimpse of dark, reddish curly hair before ducking back behind the machinery. She glanced over at Chekov. “It’s you.”

“Me?” Chekov started to peer around the corner but she yanked him back.

“Don’t! He’s looking for you, he knows you’re down here.”

“How?”

Sam thought about that. “There’s another Scotty on this ship. He must have guessed what our Scotty would do, and that he’d send you. So he sent other you down here to stop you.” She grimaced. “That sentence sounded weird.”

“I can try and hold him off while you get the parts,” Chekov suggested.

Sam shook her head. “No. You’re too similar, that fight would go on for ages. We need to be fast. And you know the parts better than I do, I always preferred the sciences division to the operations division in the Academy. I never went past the basic engineering courses.” She stared at the complicated mass of wires and parts in front of her. “I know how it should look in there, normally, but I have no idea what I’m looking at right now.”

Chekov glanced down at her leg. “Are you certain that you can handle it?”

“No offense,” Sam replied, “But I think I can take you.”

Chekov bit back a grin that suggested he might be swallowing down a joke, but dutifully turned back to the panel of wires.

Sam followed the sound of the footsteps.

She knew what was going to happen if she engaged in this fight. To protect her leg it would have been smarter to let Chekov battle himself while she tried to figure out what parts they were stealing. But she had no clue what she was looking at, and they couldn’t risk Scotty getting the wrong parts. They had one shot at this and time was short.

She wasn’t going to lose her family, not again. And if Scotty was right, if they didn’t seal the wormholes in time existence itself would cease. Losing a leg seemed a small price to pay in light of that.

It still felt strange, though. When most people lost limbs, they didn’t realize that was what would happen. They were in the middle of a fight or they were the victims of a freak accident or they were terribly sick. They had no idea what was coming. She knew. She knew exactly what deal she was signing with the universe.

It felt a little like she was signing a deal with the devil. _I’ll give you my leg if you keep my brother safe._

She peered around the corner, catching a flash of red. He was moving towards her. Sam plastered herself against the wall, waiting.

As Mirror Chekov rounded the corner she grabbed his hair, yanking him backwards and spinning him, slamming him face-first into the wall.

* * *

Kirk stood in front of Mirror Spock, waiting. He didn’t want to start talking too soon. He couldn’t risk coming on too strongly. Ironic, considering his usual tactic was to push Spock’s buttons until the Vulcan was ready to consider strangling him again.

“Everyone except for Lt. Uhura will clear the room,” Mirror Spock announced.

Everyone immediately did as they were told, gathering up any supplies they had and slipping away. Mirror Uhura sidled up a little closer, as if she wanted to get a better look at Kirk. Like he was some kind of zoo animal to her.

“He looks almost identical,” she breathed. “Different hair.”

“Physical differences are inconsequential,” Mirror Spock replied. His tone was almost absent-minded, but his gaze continued to bore into Kirk. “It is his mind that matters.”

Kirk had to suppress an urge to vomit. “There’s one thing I don’t understand about all of this,” he said. “Why do you need me?”

Mirror Spock blinked, the Vulcan’s preferred way of expressing surprise. It was startling to see that this Spock still had some of the physical ticks of the one that Kirk loved. “You are my bondmate.”

“I understand that,” Kirk replied, trying not to wince. He was glad that his Spock wasn’t listening in. This conversation was painful enough already. “But aside from that. You wanting your t’hy’la back, that’s personal. You could rope the rest of your crew into following you just because you’re in charge and what you say goes, but you said that you need me for your plans. Why?”

“You are the only one who can lead us to victory,” Mirror Spock replied. “You possess an innate talent to escape any seemingly hopeless scenario, and your charm is most helpful in diplomatic situations. You have a great hold over this crew, Captain, and absolute loyalty will be required if we are to succeed in our endeavor.”

“Your endeavor being to overthrow your empire.”

“Precisely.” Mirror Spock glanced over at Uhura, who was looking at him with a touch of sullenness. “Although I experienced resistance at first, I was able to convince the captain, and through him the rest of the crew, of the folly of continuing the Terran Empire in such a manner. If we continue this cycle of assassination and conquering through massacre, soon we shall eradicate ourselves. If the empire is to continue it must, by necessity, become more peaceful.”

“This could open us up to attack from the Klingon and Romulan Empires,” Uhura added, “But with our captain as Emperor, we know that we could hold off such forces.”

“The people would follow him gladly, if he was made their leader,” Mirror Spock continued. “They would not follow us so readily. And the people must love us.”

“Soon you will see,” Mirror Uhura said. For the first time her face wasn’t etched with anger. Instead it lit up with the kind of fierce, all-consuming joy only held by those who believe, with the faith of the fanatic, in their cause. “When the commander is done with you, you will see everything, and you will be our captain.”

* * *

Chekov reached up and behind himself, grabbing her wrist and pinching, twisting, until she had no choice but to let go. Sam fired her phaser at him but missed, and then he was kneeing her arm and her phaser went flying and, well, looked like it was up to her fists again.

Sam punched him in the gut, then promptly collapsed onto the floor as Chekov kicked her in her bad leg. Her cast cracked and she felt a flash of pain in her knee, like her bones were shifting.

She grit her teeth. She’d known what contract she was signing.

Bracing herself on her good leg, she jumped back up into the air, swinging her busted leg up and nailing Chekov in the groin. When he doubled over she slammed her elbow into his face, then his sternum. Warm blood gushed over her arm as she broke his nose and he stumbled backward.

Sam sank against the wall, panting. That kick to Chekov’s groin had been as painful for her as it’d been for him. Her leg was on fire.

“You little—” Chekov snarled, lunging at her. He looked almost crazed; eyes burning and blood smeared all over the lower half of his face.

Sam had to use her busted leg to push herself off the wall to avoid his attack, spinning and nearly falling as her leg gave out from under her. She grabbed Chekov as she went down, using his body weight to roll him so that she could land on top. Time to execute her favorite move.

She cocked back her fist and started punching.

“Sam!” Chekov—the right Chekov—ran towards her, his arms full. “I have everything!”

“Perfect.” She dealt her opponent one final punch. Lights out.

Chekov grabbed her by the shoulder to haul her to her feet. Her leg felt like jelly or perhaps a limp noodle, and it dangled uselessly from her hip.

“You okay?” Chekov asked.

Sam grabbed onto him for support. “I’ll be fine, just get us out of here.”

Strange, but her bad leg wasn’t the only thing that felt useless. Her other leg felt pretty odd too. It was like that strange static feeling, when your leg had been asleep and you had to wake it up and move it. It was spreading in her hands now too, and her arms…

Chekov swore in Russian, staring at her. “Sam… you are…”

Sam held up her hand, which took a lot more effort and concentration than it should have. Her limb seemed to be… becoming transparent. “I feel like Marty McFly,” she croaked.

“Your universe,” Chekov said. “It was the first one to torn apart by the wormhole—”

“Two wormholes,” Sam pointed out.

“It is disappearing,” Chekov said. “And… and so are you.”

Sam stared at her hand in fascination. She could almost see through it now, like a dirty or distorted window.

“Scotty,” Chekov said into the comm. “Get us back onto the _Enterprise._ We are running out of time!”

“I feel cold,” Sam said, or tried to say, but she couldn’t move her tongue properly. It was odd because usually when you can’t move your tongue it’s because it feels too heavy, but right now her tongue felt light—all of her felt light, too light, as if she’d float away…

Without even realizing it was happening, Sam’s eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out.

* * *

Kirk tried not to flinch as Mirror Uhura inched closer to him. Instead he kept his gaze on Mirror Spock.

“I agree with you on the whole peace thing,” he said. “It’s logical. In fact it makes perfect sense. No sense in turning into the Sith. What I don’t agree with you on is bringing me into it.”

Mirror Spock’s fingers twitched, as though he wished to reach out for Kirk and had to stop himself. Only years of being around Spock enabled Kirk to know what a loss of control even that tiny finger twitch was. “And what are your objections?”

“What does it matter what his objections are?” Mirror Uhura replied. “Soon he will have none!”

“First of all, how do you know this whole personality manipulation mind meld thing is going to work?” Kirk asked. “Have you done it before? You’re going to be changing my entire personality, my identity, suppressing or erasing my old memories and giving me knew ones. That’s a lot of work. How do you know you won’t do something that’ll just turn my brain into mush? And even if you do succeed, how do you know I’ll be able to act of my own free will? Maybe I’ll just be a slave to you, just doing what you tell me, a puppet.”

“Your free will, your disregard for rules, is part of what makes you who you are,” Mirror Spock replied. “I would be certain to preserve that quality.”

“It seems like an awful lot of risk to take,” Kirk said. He kept careful track of the distance between them, just in case this Spock wanted to inch closer. “And for what? You’d be a better leader anyway, Spock. You’re more logical. You don’t let people get to you. You’re a brilliant strategist.”

“I would of course serve as your councilor and consort,” Mirror Spock replied. “I would supply you with whatever advice you needed.”

“But why go through all this trouble when you could just be in charge yourself?” Kirk asked. “You’ve got telepathy, you could control people if you had to. You don’t need my charisma or charm or whatever.”

He took a deep breath and hoped that his voice wouldn’t crack. What he was about to say was what he was banking on, the thing he hoped would convince this Spock to leave him and his crew alone.

“The thing is, you say that you’re all mirrors of us. My crew has been proving that as they’ve encountered their counterparts within your crew. We know how the other one thinks. It’s how my Sulu could defeat your Sulu in a fencing match, and how my Marcus killed your Marcus. My mirror might be gone but I know how he thinks because it’s how I think, and Spock, I gotta tell you that I don’t like to share. I’m greedy that way and I know that your Kirk would be too.”

He held Mirror Spock’s gaze, hoping he sounded confident and not desperate. “I wouldn’t want my bondmate, the person I loved, to be with anyone else. I wouldn’t want him to _replace_ me. I’m not a product at a store. And I think if you did try and change me, you wouldn’t be satisfied because you can mess with my mind all you want but it still wouldn’t be the same. I wouldn’t be the same Kirk. And you know that, Spock. You have to know that.”

He spread out his arms, showing all of who he was. He’d never felt more like he was about to jump off a cliff. “I’m not the same, and I never will be. Each mind is unique, that’s what my Spock always told me. And even if you could make me the same, I wouldn’t want you to do that because I want to be the only one for you. I’d want you to wait and be with me again when you joined me on the other side, whatever that other side looks like.”

Something in Mirror Spock’s eyes seemed to soften, and he inclined his head slightly. Kirk hoped that meant Spock was actually considering what he was saying. He plunged onward.

“You should change the empire. I agree. But you just said it was your idea to change the empire, right? You had to convince the other me. This is your idea, your brainchild. You deserve to be the one to lead. Do it in my memory. Do it to honor me, and our bond. _That’s_ what I would want. Not to watch from Elysium or whatever comes after death while you try and make Kirk 2.0.

“And what’s more, you’ve endangered all of existence to do it. Ask your Scotty, I’m sure he’ll have figured out what’s going on by now. I wouldn’t want that either. I’m not worth that. You’ll lose your lives—no, more than that, it’ll be like nothing, none of you or any other universe, ever existed in the first place. I know you’re all for damning the consequences and you probably got that idea from me but there are some places we just can’t go.”

He dared to take a step forward, hoping that this other Spock wouldn’t do something like try to kiss him. “You know it’s true,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “You know I’m right.”

Mirror Spock stared straight into his eyes, and although they weren’t touching, Kirk felt like the other man was able to read his mind anyway. Kirk was a good liar, and the thing he’d found about lying was that all good lies had truth in them. And it was true that he would never, ever want Spock to replace him. He was selfish and greedy and he wanted Spock all to himself, even after death. He would never allow another person, even himself, to take his place.

The moment seemed to stretch on, the silence so thick that it felt like it was beginning to press inward against Kirk’s skin like a living creature. He could hear his heart thumping loudly in his chest, the sound somehow adding to his nervousness.

Mirror Spock pulled away, actually _pulled away_ , and nodded. In that moment, Kirk knew he’d won. That step away, it was Spock giving him space. Giving him up.

“I see the logic in your argument,” he said at last. “I allowed my grief to blind me as to the proper way to honor my beloved. I could never make you into the man I lost, and it would be unfair to his memory to even attempt such a thing.”

Kirk took what felt like his first breath since stepping onto this damn ship.

“What?” Mirror Uhura shrieked, a sound that Kirk would never have thought her capable of making—not the unflappable Uhura. “You are giving him up? Captain, this is not our plan!”

“Our plans have changed, Uhura,” Mirror Spock replied, holding up a hand to silence her.

But Uhura would not be silenced. “I knew it,” she hissed, baring her teeth like a feral cat. “I knew that you were weak. You will listen to anything Kirk says, even this pathetic shadow of him! You are not fit to lead us, you were never fit to lead us!”

She grabbed for her phaser and Kirk stepped back, thinking she was going to hit him, but she was aiming for Spock. Faster than either of them could ever dream of being, Spock moved, striking at Uhura and gripping at her right where her neck met her shoulder.

Uhura gave a small gasp, her eyelids fluttering, and then she fell to the floor.

Dead.

“An advanced form of the Vulcan nerve pinch,” Mirror Spock explained, apparently translating Kirk’s look of horror as morbid curiosity. “Death is nearly instantaneous.”

Kirk swallowed. “So you’ll… you’ll go back to your own world?”

Spock nodded. “Yes. I shall return and bring peace to the empire, as my _t’hy’la_ would have wanted.”

He glanced up at Kirk, and the pain was clear in his eyes. He didn’t speak, however, and the silence stretched on until Kirk cleared his throat.

“Forgive me.” Mirror Spock straightened up and placed his hands behind his back, clasping them. “I merely wished to… look upon you for the last time.”

Kirk nodded. He had no idea what to say. He wasn’t sure there was anything to say. Instead he walked back up onto the transporter pad and spoke into his comm.

“Beam me up, Scotty.”

* * *

Scotty jammed the final mechanism back into place. “I’ve got it!”

“Hurry!” Chekov had Sam in his arms, and she was starting to vibrate—not like a human would, but like particles of light. “I can hardly feel her, she is becoming insubstantial!”

“We’ll all be insubstantial before long,” Scotty grumbled. “All right. This should work.”

“Hold on, Sam,” Chekov instructed, struggling to hold onto a person who was simply not altogether there anymore. Sam’s body shuddered and vibrated, and he could see all the way through her to his lap. He couldn’t even feel her weight on his legs or hear her breathing anymore. “Scotty, hurry!”

Scotty fired up the machine.

It was a complicated thing, not all that sleek or stylish, a mishmash of stolen technology, warp core parts, and transporter tech. It took up almost the entire floor of engineering, sprawled out in a mess of crisscrossing wires and cables. But if it worked, and it should, then Scotty could use it to seek out the wormholes and, essentially, use the energy of them to draw back the edges, rather like drawing together a curtain, until the edges all met and he could seal it all back up again.

Sam’s condition only spurred him on. Her wormhole had appeared, in her timeline, only half an hour or so before theirs. That meant they had only minutes before they, too, started to lose control of their limbs and began to fade—or vibrate, if Sam’s case was anything to go by—out of existence.

Scotty focused on the task at hand. He just had to flip that switch, then focus on the numbers there—and that should be down one, move that wire, reattach the cable so that the current was a little stronger over in this section…

He went into that place he always did when he was completely absorbed in a task, that strange tunnel vision where nothing else existed but his mind was also perfectly, wonderfully clear, where for the span of that project he was God and he knew all.

The ship gave a great shudder, like a human who has felt a sudden chill. Scotty looked up. Had it worked?

Chekov felt a sudden weight on his lap and Sam gasped, her eyes opening. She dry heaved, her body giving a huge shudder, and she began to cough.

“You did it!” Chekov crowed, hugging the still-coughing Sam and looking over at Scotty. “You did it! You did it!”

Sam gently pushed at Chekov’s chest until she could get a clear view of her leg, which was still dangling from her hip like a wet noodle. “Damn. I was hoping that thing would get fixed along with my miraculous return to existence.”

Chekov just rolled his eyes at her as he helped lift her up to carry her to Sickbay.

* * *

Kirk stepped off the transporter pad only to be knocked backwards as he was hugged by Uhura—his Uhura.

“Whoa!” He grinned, hugging her back. “I knew you’d fall for my irresistible charms eventually.”

“Oh, shut up,” Uhura replied, the bite of her words lessened by the fact that she was still clinging to him fiercely.

The moment she pulled back, smiling, Sulu was there. They hugged quickly, and Kirk grasped his helmsman’s hand as they pulled back. “Good work back there. You most likely saved Marcus’s life, getting her away from him.” He looked around and failed to see her or Bones in the vicinity. “She okay?”

“Just a cut,” Sulu said. “Bones is in surgery for Sam.”

“Sam?” Kirk felt a curl of cold fear in his stomach. “Is she okay?”

“She’ll live, if tha’s what you’re wondering,” Scotty said, running in and putting Uhura’s hug to shame as he all but tackled his captain. “Y’ gave us a real scare back there, captain!”

“Did you plug the wormholes?” Kirk asked. “Or whatever it was we had to do to save existence.”

“I did. I had t’ steal from my other self t’ do it, so I think their ships gonna have a wee bit a’ trouble ‘til they get those parts fixed, but they won’t die or anything.”

“What happened to Sam?” Kirk asked.

“Tha’s the thing,” Scotty explained. “I needed someone t’ get the parts for me from the other ship, and Sam was the only one without a counterpart. So I sent her to protect Chekov while he got the parts. She got into a fight, her leg’s completely busted.”

Kirk shoved down the twist of guilt in his gut, the one that he got whenever a crewmember was injured on a mission. It had been Sam’s choice, and it was probably the right one. Existence itself had been at stake. Still, like always, he couldn’t help but feel he should have prevented it in some way.

“Thanks, Scotty.” He clapped the man on the shoulder. “I’ll go and check on—”

He looked up, and almost as if they could read his thoughts, Uhura, Sulu, and Scotty stepped out of the way.

Spock was standing in the doorway, his hands carefully clasped behind his back. He was looking at him similarly to how Mirror Spock had, but it was different, _better_ , because this was his Spock, the right Spock, the one that belonged to him.

Without a word, Uhura grabbed Sulu and Scotty and led them out of the room. Scotty made some kind of protest but Uhura winked at him, which made the Scotsman blush, and then Uhura was shoving both men out the door while giving Kirk a knowing look.

Oh, Jesus, she knew everything, didn’t she? Kirk had a sudden image of Uhura giving Spock romantic advice and he wanted to find the nearest hole and hide in it for a few days.

Then he realized that Spock was walking towards him, and all other thoughts fell away. He could feel Spock’s presence at the back of his mind again, a warm soft light that seemed to soak through him like melted chocolate.

“You have returned,” Spock said. His voice was soft, almost wondering.

“Told you,” Kirk replied, grinning. “I can make you do anything, even if it’s other y—”

He had a point to make, really, he did, but it’s hard to talk when someone else’s tongue is in your mouth and their hands are cradling your face like you’re something precious and worthy and Kirk decided that everything could wait a while.

* * *

Carol set aside the PADD as she heard a knock at her door. She hadn’t been all that hurt, but the captain had still insisted on giving her a day of rest just in case. She supposed it might be Uhura or Christine or Gaila coming to check on her. They had all been quite worried.

“I told you,” she said as she opened the door, “You don’t have to—” She stopped.

It was Leonard.

He shrugged a little sheepishly. “Thought you might want some company.”

Carol stepped aside to let him in, her body working on autopilot. She hadn’t seen him since she’d collapsed in his arms on the transporter. She’d been hustled off to Sickbay immediately, and Christine had been the one to patch her up. She hadn’t heard anything from him, not so much as a comm.

Had it all just been… some form of adrenaline? Was he regretting the kiss? Did he, perhaps, realize that he only saw her as a friend?

The door slid shut and Carol found herself staring at the floor.

“Hey.” Leonard’s voice was soft and thick, the way it usually only got when he was deep in his cups. “You okay?”

Carol didn’t see him move but his hand was suddenly up against her chin, warm and steady, tilting her head up so that she could meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought I was fine, I just—” She gestured vaguely, unable to articulate all that she was feeling. Relief, yes, but also a strange sense that things weren’t finished yet, that they weren’t complete.

Leonard nodded. “I… I just got out of surgery with Sam.”

Carol swallowed. “Is she…?”

He shook his head. “She just kept using it. All that strain—and I know why she did, we all probably would have done the same in her situation. It was a way to save Jim. But—it’s still a hell of a price to pay.”

Carol nodded, her eyes growing hot, and she blinked. Poor girl. Technology had advanced to the point where artificial limbs were top quality, but it still wasn’t the same. Regenerators couldn’t rebuild an entire leg.

It wasn’t just Sam, though. It was the fact that a few hours ago she’d shot herself point blank. She’d seen herself, everything she had always feared she’d become, personified and walking down the halls, killing her fellow crewmen. She’d been held captive by some twisted version of the man she loved, and he’d wanted to hurt her—not just kill her but do… things… to her…

It was a lot to take in, and now, with Leonard’s hand still cradling her jaw, it was very hard not to just let it all fall out of her.

Leonard’s hand slid downward, fingertips trailing along her neck, until he reached the spot where his counterpart had cut her. The dermal regenerator had done its work quickly. The cut had stung but it hadn't been deep. Still, she thought she could feel the ghost of it.

“I almost…” He stared at the spot, his eyes dark and, Carol thought, a little wet. “The thing I hate is that I understand. If she had killed you, I—nothing would’ve stopped me from firing a phaser into her. Nothing.”

“But you wouldn’t have done what he wanted to do,” Carol replied. She took his wrist in her hand, guiding it away from her neck and entwining their fingers. “You aren’t like him. You want to heal. Look at how you saved Jim. You broke the law so that he could live.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “Doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty.”

She laughed because how could she not? Here she was, telling him the same sort of things that Uhura had told her earlier, and he was still feeling guilty, just as she did—guilty for the actions of another.

“He’s not you,” Carol whispered. She dropped his hand to wrap her arms around his neck, feeling a happy little thrill when Leonard’s hands dropped to her hips. “Now c’mere and help me get this bad taste out of my mouth.”

She did have a metaphorical bad taste in her mouth, the residue of the entire day, but she was referencing the very distinct way in which the other McCoy had realized she wasn’t his girlfriend, and Leonard knew it—his eyes flashed and then his mouth was against hers, lips warm and soft, and she opened eagerly because _yes_ , this was him. Not a misshapen imitation.

Now it felt like everything was complete.

“Stay the night,” she whispered against his mouth, shuddering pleasantly against him as one of his hands drifted to the small of her back, pressing them closer together.

He pulled back, pleasure and surprise mingling comically on his face. “You—you’re sure?”

Carol just rolled her eyes and kissed him again. If he was still coherent enough to wonder if she was sure about her decision, then she clearly needed to kiss him for a bit longer.

* * *

 Sam was arguing with Chekov about something as Scotty, Kirk and Spock entered Sickbay. It was late but neither teenager seemed particularly tired, both of them using their hands to point or gesture wildly in the air as they each tried to make their point known.

As the three men got closer, they realized that the teens were arguing about a television show.

“It’s ridiculous because it goes against seven seasons of character development!” Sam said, her voice rising. “What was the whole speech at the end of season five for, then!?”

“What is going on?” Kirk asked.

Sam perked right up. “James!”

Chekov glared at her. “Sam and I were discussing the differences in a television show that exists both in her universe and mine. It appears that after season seven, the direction of the show differs. I am endeavoring to explain to Sam that _our version is better_!”

“Your version is a load of bull—”

“Guys, I had kind of a long day, could we not?” Kirk asked, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

Both teenagers fell silent. Chekov looked over at Sam, then at Kirk, and stood up. “It is good to have you back, Keptain.”

Kirk smiled. “Good to be back, Chekov.”

The ensign left the room. Sam swiveled over to look at Kirk. He couldn’t help but notice how the blankets fell around her body. They rose in one line along one side of the bed, but were flat on the other side—the side where her other leg should be.

Sam caught him looking and rubbed at the back of her neck. “Bones, uh, he did what he could, but he’d already made it clear if I moved it anymore I’d lose it. The bones just kept re-fracturing and, I mean, after that one fight I severed an artery and the bone shards were pretty much shredding my muscles from the inside out, so…”

She shrugged, and Kirk could see she was trying not to cry. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. Sam listed to the side like a boat about to capsize, leaning against the side of his body, her head tipping to rest on his shoulder.

“I knew it was going to happen, I knew it was the price to pay,” she whispered. “But you still kind of hope, y’know? And even if you don’t hope you still don’t really know what it feels like… until it’s happened…”

Kirk gently squeezed her hand and Sam closed her eyes, a couple tears leaking out to slide down her cheeks.

“Dr. McCoy will be able to fit you with a bionic limb over the next few days,” Spock said. “While I concede that it will not be the same as possessing one’s own limb, it will do an admirable job and there is a ninety eight point seven percent chance that you will be able to operate at your full capacity.”

Sam nodded, her eyes still closed. “Thanks, Spock.”

“We, ah, discussed the possibility of sending you back to your universe,” Scotty said.

Sam’s eyes flew open and she sat up. “What?”

Scotty nodded. “We have the technology now, we could open a wormhole. But I discussed it with Mr. Spock here and ah… it just wouldn’t work.”

“Opening a wormhole would only cause us to do what our counterparts did,” Spock explained, “And there is a high probability that we would not be able to heal the universe in time as Mr. Scott did earlier. Furthermore we would not be able to control the timeframe. If it is a particular time and stardate in our universe, then when we open the wormhole we shall be opening it to the exact same time and stardate, only in your universe.”

“In other words,” Scotty cut in, “We’d be sendin’ y’ back to a dyin’ ship. To where y’ left.”

“If Mr. Scott and I could find a way to send you back to before the attack upon your ship, or open a wormhole to a place where you could enter safely, perhaps a planet where you could send out a signal and be assisted by Starfleet—” Something like sympathy shone in Spock’s eyes.

“But even if we _could_ , it would mess with your world’s space-time continuum t’ send y’ back before the attack,” Scotty added. “There’d be two of ya. We’d have to send you back to the exact time you vanished from your world to avoid that, and by then you’d be right back on the dyin’ ship again.”

“And to send you back in time would mean the Mirror Crew would still attack your ship anyway,” Kirk finished. “It’s not like their return to their world reversed time.”

“So in my world my brother is still dead,” Sam said. Her voice sounded heavy and dull. “And I’m as good as dead.”

Scotty nodded, his forehead creased in sympathy. “I’m afraid so.”

“It’d be signing your death warrant to send you back,” Kirk said. “So Spock and I thought up another solution. We lost a good number of crewmembers during this whole thing. An entire security team, M’Benga’s science crew, and half of Alpha Shift’s command crew. We could use an extra pair of hands.”

Sam shifted to look at him. Her eyes were still wet but now they shone. “You—are you saying I can stay?”

Kirk grinned. “We’re on a five-year voyage to the edges of space. We’ve got plenty of time to figure out what to tell the brass about why you exist. Maybe Marcus can even fudge some new records for you, she’s good at that.”

Sam stared at him in shock for a beat, then simultaneously burst into tears and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. When Kirk wrapped his arms around her to hug her back, she started crying even harder.

She had her family back.

* * *

Captain James T. Kirk strode onto the bridge of his ship. Yeoman Rand, fully recovered, was taking notes on her PADD—and flirting with Gaila on the instant messaging system if her blush was anything to go by. Uhura was at her station, happily translating some obscure ancient text that she’d found in one of the anthropology files. Sulu was at the helm and obviously teasing Chekov about something, because the ensign was blushing redder than Uhura’s uniform. Grumbling over by the captain’s chair was McCoy, but he lightened up a little when Carol’s hand trailed down his arm as she passed him by on her way to the science station.

Standing on the other side of the captain’s chair, PADD in hand and wearing a new uniform, stood Ensign Georgiana Samantha Kirk. Her new bionic leg gleamed brightly, not yet dinged up from use as it undoubtedly would be once she got McCoy’s clearance to go on away missions. She grinned at Kirk as he entered, all but shaking with happiness.

And standing at the science station was Spock. Kirk couldn’t help but grin a little wider as he saw his First Officer. The corner of Spock’s lip twitched and Kirk knew that the Vulcan was struggling to pretend that he wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Captain on the bridge,” Sam announced.

Kirk sat down in his chair, feeling the warm brush of Spock’s mind against his as he did so. It still felt a little overwhelming, but in a good way, to know that he was this constantly loved.

“Sulu,” he commanded, “Take us to warp five.”

Sulu grinned. “As you say, Captain.”

Kirk settled back into his chair.

_To boldly go._

The _Enterprise_ took off into space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, the ambiguous/implied relationships are: Scotty/Uhura (at the very beginning stages), Mirror Sulu/Mirror Uhura (one-sided, Sulu's pining in vain), and Janice Rand/Gaila.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this, since it was great fun for me to write it.


End file.
